"No, I didn't forget," said Davy defiantly, "but I ain't going to
say my prayers any more. I'm going to give up trying to be good,
'cause no matter how good I am you'd like Paul Irving better.
So I might as well be bad and have the fun of it."
"I don't like Paul Irving better," said Anne seriously. "I like
you just as well, only in a different way."
"But I want you to like me the same way," pouted Davy.
"You can't like different people the same way. You don't like Dora
and me the same way, do you?"
Davy sat up and reflected.
"No. . .o. . .o," he admitted at last, "I like Dora because she's
my sister but I like you because you're YOU."
"And I like Paul because he is Paul and Davy because he is Davy,"
said Anne gaily.
"Well, I kind of wish I'd said my prayers then," said Davy, convinced
by this logic. "But it's too much bother getting out now to say them.
I'll say them twice over in the morning, Anne. Won't that do as well?"
No, Anne was positive it would not do as well. So Davy scrambled
out and knelt down at her knee. When he had finished his devotions
he leaned back on his little, bare, brown heels and looked up at her.
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