“Where are you going, all dressed up, Anne?” Davy wanted to know. “You look bully in that dress.”
Anne had come down to dinner in a new dress of pale green muslin . . . the first colour she had worn since Matthew’s death. It became her perfectly, bringing out all the delicate, flower-like tints of her face and the gloss and burnish of her hair.
“Davy, how many times have I told you that you mustn’t use that word,” she rebuked. “I’m going to Echo Lodge.”
“Take me with you,” entreated Davy.
“I would if I were driving. But I’m going to walk and it’s too far for your eight year old legs. Besides, Paul is going with me and I fear you don’t enjoy yourself in his company.”
“Oh, I like Paul lots better’n I did,” said Davy, beginning to make fearful inroads into his pudding. “Since I’ve got pretty good myself I don’t mind his being gooder so much. If I can keep on I’ll catch up with him some day, both in legs and goodness. ’Sides, Paul’s real nice to us second primer boys in
