d even Davy. He trotted obediently
upstairs with Anne.

"When I'm grown up the very first thing I'm going to do is stay up ALL
night just to see what it would be like," he told her confidentially.

In after years Marilla never thought of that first week of the twins'
sojourn at Green Gables without a shiver. Not that it really was so much
worse than the weeks that followed it; but it seemed so by reason of its
novelty. There was seldom a waking minute of any day when Davy was not
in mischief or devising it; but his first notable exploit occurred two
days after his arrival, on Sunday morning . . . a fine, warm day, as
hazy and mild as September. Anne dressed him for church while Marilla
attended to Dora. Davy at first objected strongly to having his face
washed.

"Marilla washed it yesterday . . . and Mrs. Wiggins scoured me with hard
soap the day of the funeral. That's enough for one week. I don't see the
good of being so awful clean. It's lots more comfable being dirty."

"Paul Irving washes his face every day of his own accord," said Anne
astutely.

Davy had been an inmate of Green Gables for little over forty-eight
hours; but he already worshipped Anne and hated Paul Irving, whom he had
heard Anne praising enthusiastically the day after his arrival. If Paul
Irving washed his face every day, that settled it. He, Davy Keith,
would do it too, if it killed him. The same consideration induced him
to submit meekly to the other details of his toilet, and he was really
a handsome little lad when all was done. Anne felt an almost maternal
pride in him as she led him into the old Cuthbert pew.

Davy behaved quite well at first, being occupied in casting covert
glances at all the small boys within view and wondering which was
Paul Irving. The first two hymns and the Scripture reading passed off
uneventfully. Mr. Allan was praying when the sensation came.

Lauretta White was sitting in front of Davy, her head slightly bent
and her fair hair hanging in two long braids, between which a tempting
expanse of white neck showed, encased in a loose lace frill. Lauretta
was a fat, placid-looking child of eight, who had conducted herself
irreproachably in church from the very first day her mother carried her
there, an infant of six months.

Davy thrust his hand into his pocket and produced . . . a caterpillar, a
furry, squirming caterpillar. Marilla saw and clutched at him but she
was too late. Davy dropped the caterpillar down L