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 rific contortion that Dora, although she knew his gifts in that respect, was honestly alarmed lest he should never in the world be able to get it straightened out again.

“Darn her,” exploded Davy.

“Oh, Davy, don’t swear,” gasped Dora in dismay.

“‘Darn’ isn’t swearing—not real swearing. And I don’t care if it is,” retorted Davy recklessly.

“Well, if you must say dreadful words don’t say them on Sunday,” pleaded Dora.

Davy was as yet far from repentance, but in his secret soul he felt that, perhaps, he had gone a little too far.

“I’m going to invent a swear word of my own,” he declared.

“God will punish you if you do,” said Dora solemnly.

“Then I think God is a mean old scamp,” retorted Davy. “Doesn’t He know a fellow must have some way of ’spressing his feelings?”

“Davy!!!” said Dora. She expected that Davy would be struck down dead on the spot. But nothing happened.

“Anyway, I ain’t going to stand any more of Mrs. Lynde’s bossing,” spluttered Davy. “Anne and Marilla may have the right to boss me, but she hasn’t. I’m going to do every single thing she told me not to do. You watch me.”

In grim, deliberate silence, while Dora watched him with the fascination of horror, Davy stepped off the