"Paul Irving's come back to town!" Miranda Yates cried, as she danced up the road to meet Dora and Davy Keith.

Davy nearly dropped the toad he was holding. "What?" It was a fine day. Spring was just beginning to ripen into summer, and the air was hazy and golden from all the pollen-- much too fine a day for bad news.

Miranda ignored him, and twirled around Dora. "Oh, Dora, I bet he's every so handsome. And he's a city boy too… Didn't you use to have the most awful crush on him? I wonder if he still remembers us."

"I was eleven," Dora replied primly. "I got over it by the time he moved away. Anyway, it's been at least five years since the last time we saw him. I bet he's changed something awful."

"Into something awful," Davy Keith muttered.

Miranda ignored him. "He's here for the summer to recover his strength. Apparently the city air didn't agree with him and he was very ill last winter."

"Probably from all the books he read," Davy mumbled. "I always did say books were bad for you."

"Stop it, Davy," Miranda said. "You've already got plenty of girls chasing you. You could stand to use some competition. Might even make you stop tormenting anyone foolish enough to fancy you."

"It's because of Anne isn't it?" Dora said.

Most of the time Davy enjoyed having a twin, but every once in a while it was like having a diary— one that knew all your thoughts, and took great pleasure in announcing them to the world.

"Anne?" Miranda asked. "Wasn't she the school teacher who took you and Dora in when you were orphaned? She taught Paul too, didn't she? Mother says, Anne thought he was a genius."

"Davy worships Anne," Dora said. "If he were a girl, he'd probably keep her picture in his room."

"Dora, do you want this toad down your dress?" Davy hissed.

Dora smiled back at Davy. "Would Paul Irving threaten a girl with a toad?"

Davy glared. Paul. Paul always remembered to scrub behind his ears and wipe his mouth, when Davy had plum jam smeared across his face. Paul kept his shirts crisp and clean, Davy fell in mud puddles. Paul wrote poetry and Davy put toads down girls' dresses at church.

The toad in Davy's hand croaked. It was particularly plump, and its skin was moist against Davy's palm. Davy considered. Toads of such fine quality were hard to come by. He curled his hand around it and stuffed his fist into his pocket.
"No," he said. "He'd scream like a girl if someone made him touch one."

Dora, however, wasn't paying attention. She'd stopped, and a faint flush was rising on her cheeks.
"Look over there," she whispered.

A tall slim boy was coming through the meadow. The golden haze shone on his burnished hair, and a chestnut wave fell over his forehead. As he drew closer, he reached up to brush it aside, and Davy could make out the features of his face: dark blue eyes set over high cheekbones, and full red lips that were curved into a perpetual half smile, the mouth of someone with a delicious secret.

Paul Irving had indeed returned to Avonlea.

"Paul!" Miranda cried.

Paul stopped short and stared. Then he waved and ran over to them. "Why, it's Miranda and the Keiths. It's been so long! You lot were eleven when I last saw you."

"Haven't we improved tremendously?" Miranda said with her most charming smile.

Davy tried not to glare at her.

Paul laughed. "Still as saucy as I remember." He turned to Dora and mock-bowed. "And you're even prettier than I remember."

As expected, she blushed. Davy sighed.

Dora glared at Davy. Then to his shock and horror, she turned back to Paul and said sunnily, "What about Davy?"

Paul paused. He looked at Davy, opened his mouth, and then shut it. He looked at Davy, studied him, really studied him, as if the eleven year old Davy was standing there in the field with them, and he, Paul was weighing both versions against each other.

Davy shifted his feet, and the toad squirmed in his pocket. He could feel himself starting to blush and wished Paul would just get on with it and humiliate him. Maybe Paul would say something so awful, Davy would have to punch thought made him grin.

"Davy Keith, you have really changed," he said slowly. There was a note of wonder in his voice, and something else, something strange, almost horror. Paul took a step back, and his face was serious. "Somehow, I thought you'd stay the same." He held out his hand for Davy to shake, "but you're all grown up."

Davy stared at Paul's hand, insulted. Stay the same? Stay eleven? What made Paul think he could spend five minutes staring at a fellow and decalre him "all grown up"?

Davy took his hand out of his pocket and reached for Paul's hand. "Almost grown up," Davy said. He dropped the toad in Paul's palm and winked. "But not quite."