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X. Davy in Search of a Sensation
“Idon’twanttobetoohardonthechild,”saidMarilla.“Idaresaynobodyeverdidtellhimitwaswrongtotelllies,andthoseSprottchildrenwerenofitcompanionsforhim.PoorMarywastoosicktotrainhimproperlyandIpresumeyoucouldn’texpectasix-year-oldchildtoknowthingslikethatbyinstinct.Isupposewe’lljusthavetoassumehedoesn’tknowANYTHINGrightandbeginatthebeginning.Buthe’llhavetobepunishedforshuttingDoraup,andIcan’tthinkofanywayexcepttosendhimtobedwithouthissupperandwe’vedonethatsooften.Can’tyousuggestsomethingelse,Anne?Ishouldthinkyououghttobeableto,withthatimaginationyou’realwaystalkingof.”
“ButpunishmentsaresohorridandIliketoimagineonlypleasantthings,”saidAnne,cuddlingDavy.“Therearesomanyunpleasantthingsintheworldalreadythatthereisnouseinimagininganymore.”
IntheendDavywassenttobed,asusual,theretoremainuntilnoonnextday.Heevidentlydidsomethinking,forwhenAnnewentuptoherroomalittlelatersheheardhimcallinghernamesoftly.Goingin,shefoundhimsittingupinbed,withhiselbowsonhiskneesandhischinproppedonhishands.
“Anne,”hesaidsolemnly,“isitwrongforeverybodytotellwhop...falsehoods?Iwanttoknow?”
“Yes,indeed.”
“Isitwrongforagrown-upperson?”
“Yes.”
“Then,”saidDavydecidedly,“Marillaisbad,forSHEtellsthem.Andshe’sworse’nme,forIdidn’tknowitwaswrongbutshedoes.
