fish they wanted, so they returned to the house, much to
Dora's relief. She sat primly on a hencoop in the yard while the others
played an uproarious game of tag; and then they all climbed to the top
of the pig-house roof and cut their initials on the saddleboard. The
flat-roofed henhouse and a pile of straw beneath gave Davy another
inspiration. They spent a splendid half hour climbing on the roof and
diving off into the straw with whoops and yells.

But even unlawful pleasures must come to an end. When the rumble of
wheels over the pond bridge told that people were going home from church
Davy knew they must go. He discarded Tommy's overalls, resumed his own
rightful attire, and turned away from his string of trout with a sigh.
No use to think of taking them home.

"Well, hadn't we a splendid time?" he demanded defiantly, as they went
down the hill field.

"I hadn't," said Dora flatly. "And I don't believe you
had--really--either," she added, with a flash of insight that was not to
be expected of her.

"I had so," cried Davy, but in the voice of one who doth protest too
much. "No wonder you hadn't--just sitting there like a--like a mule."

"I ain't going to, 'sociate with the Cottons," said Dora loftily.

"The Cottons are all right," retorted Davy. "And they have far better
times than we have. They do just as they please and say just what they
like before everybody. _I_'m going to do that, too, after this."

"There are lots of things you wouldn't dare say before everybody,"
averred Dora.

"No, there isn't."

"There is, too. Would you," demanded Dora gravely, "would you say
'tomcat' before the minister?"

This was a staggerer. Davy was not prepared for such a concrete example
of the freedom of speech. But one did not have to be consistent with
Dora.

"Of course not," he admitted sulkily.

"'Tomcat' isn't a holy word. I wouldn't mention such an animal before a
minister at all."

"But if you had to?" persisted Dora.

"I'd call it a Thomas pussy," said Davy.

"_I_ think 'gentleman cat' would be more polite," reflected Dora.

"YOU thinking!" retorted Davy with withering scorn.

Davy was not feeling comfortable, though he would have died before he
admitted it to Dora. Now that the exhilaration of truant delights had
died away, his conscience was beginning to give him salutary twinges.
After all, perhaps it would have been better to have gone to Sunday
School and church. Mrs. Lynde might be bossy; but th