ere was always a
box of cookies in her kitchen cupboard and she was not stingy. At this
inconvenient moment Davy remembered that when he had torn his new school
pants the week before, Mrs. Lynde had mended them beautifully and never
said a word to Marilla about them.

But Davy's cup of iniquity was not yet full. He was to discover that one
sin demands another to cover it. They had dinner with Mrs. Lynde that
day, and the first thing she asked Davy was,

"Were all your class in Sunday School today?"

"Yes'm," said Davy with a gulp. "All were there--'cept one."

"Did you say your Golden Text and catechism?"

"Yes'm."

"Did you put your collection in?"

"Yes'm."

"Was Mrs. Malcolm MacPherson in church?"

"I don't know." This, at least, was the truth, thought wretched Davy.

"Was the Ladies' Aid announced for next week?"

"Yes'm"--quakingly.

"Was prayer-meeting?"

"I--I don't know."

"YOU should know. You should listen more attentively to the
announcements. What was Mr. Harvey's text?"

Davy took a frantic gulp of water and swallowed it and the last protest
of conscience together. He glibly recited an old Golden Text learned
several weeks ago. Fortunately Mrs. Lynde now stopped questioning him;
but Davy did not enjoy his dinner.

He could only eat one helping of pudding.

"What's the matter with you?" demanded justly astonished Mrs. Lynde.
"Are you sick?"

"No," muttered Davy.

"You look pale. You'd better keep out of the sun this afternoon,"
admonished Mrs. Lynde.

"Do you know how many lies you told Mrs. Lynde?" asked Dora
reproachfully, as soon as they were alone after dinner.

Davy, goaded to desperation, turned fiercely.

"I don't know and I don't care," he said. "You just shut up, Dora
Keith."

Then poor Davy betook himself to a secluded retreat behind the woodpile
to think over the way of transgressors.

Green Gables was wrapped in darkness and silence when Anne reached home.
She lost no time going to bed, for she was very tired and sleepy. There
had been several Avonlea jollifications the preceding week, involving
rather late hours. Anne's head was hardly on her pillow before she was
half asleep; but just then her door was softly opened and a pleading
voice said, "Anne."

Anne sat up drowsily.

"Davy, is that you? What is the matter?"

A white-clad figure flung itself across the floor and on to the bed.

"Anne," sobbed Davy, getting his arms about her neck. "I'm awful glad
yo