.
Between them stood the culprit. His back was toward Marilla and it was
a meek, subdued, frightened back; but his face was toward Anne and
although it was a little shamefaced there was a gleam of comradeship
in Davy's eyes, as if he knew he had done wrong and was going to be
punished for it, but could count on a laugh over it all with Anne later
on.

But no half hidden smile answered him in Anne's gray eyes, as there
might have done had it been only a question of mischief. There was
something else . . . something ugly and repulsive.

"How could you behave so, Davy?" she asked sorrowfully.

Davy squirmed uncomfortably.

"I just did it for fun. Things have been so awful quiet here for so long
that I thought it would be fun to give you folks a big scare. It was,
too."

In spite of fear and a little remorse Davy grinned over the
recollection.

"But you told a falsehood about it, Davy," said Anne, more sorrowfully
than ever.

Davy looked puzzled.

"What's a falsehood? Do you mean a whopper?"

"I mean a story that was not true."

"Course I did," said Davy frankly. "If I hadn't you wouldn't have been
scared. I HAD to tell it."

Anne was feeling the reaction from her fright and exertions. Davy's
impenitent attitude gave the finishing touch. Two big tears brimmed up
in her eyes.

"Oh, Davy, how could you?" she said, with a quiver in her voice. "Don't
you know how wrong it was?"

Davy was aghast. Anne crying . . . he had made Anne cry! A flood of real
remorse rolled like a wave over his warm little heart and engulfed it.
He rushed to Anne, hurled himself into her lap, flung his arms around
her neck, and burst into tears.

"I didn't know it was wrong to tell whoppers," he sobbed. "How did you
expect me to know it was wrong? All Mr. Sprott's children told them
REGULAR every day, and cross their hearts too. I s'pose Paul Irving
never tells whoppers and here I've been trying awful hard to be as good
as him, but now I s'pose you'll never love me again. But I think you
might have told me it was wrong. I'm awful sorry I've made you cry,
Anne, and I'll never tell a whopper again."

Davy buried his face in Anne's shoulder and cried stormily. Anne, in a
sudden glad flash of understanding, held him tight and looked over his
curly thatch at Marilla.

"He didn't know it was wrong to tell falsehoods, Marilla. I think we
must forgive him for that part of it this time if he will promise never
to say what isn't true again