stealing plum jam that Davy became conscience stricken and promised with repentant kisses never to do it again.
“Anyhow, there’ll be plenty of jam in heaven, that’s one comfort,” he said complacently.
Anne nipped a smile in the bud.
“Perhaps there will . . . if we want it,” she said, “But what makes you think so?”
“Why, it’s in the catechism,” said Davy.
“Oh, no, there is nothing like that in the catechism, Davy.”
“But I tell you there is,” persisted Davy. “It was in that question Marilla taught me last Sunday. ‘Why should we love God?’ It says, ‘Because He makes preserves, and redeems us.’ Preserves is just a holy way of saying jam.”
“I must get a drink of water,” said Anne hastily. When she came back it cost her some time and trouble to explain to Davy that a certain comma in the said catechism question made a great deal of difference in the meaning.
“Well, I thought it was too good to be true,” he said at last, with a sigh of disappointed conviction. “And besides, I didn’t see when He’d find time to make jam if it’s one endless Sabbath day, as the hymn says. I don’t believe I want to go to heaven. Won’t there ever be any Saturdays in heaven, Anne?”
“Yes, Saturdays, and every other kind of beautiful days. And every day in heaven will be more beautiful than the one before it, Davy,” assured Anne, who
