"Davy," said Paul, impulsively hugging the younger boy. "You're amazing."

Davy was always unruly, and he should have looked ridiculous in his ruffly apron- yet he did not. Somehow, the white lace ruffles against his tanned skin made him look more manly in contrast. Paul looked into Davy's eyes for a moment, enjoying the nut-brown and hazel and merry glints of gold. A tiny bit of frosting had landed in Davy's hair when he was mixing it vigorously and willing the bottom of the bowl not to burn. Paul was about to reach up and remove the white speck, when Dave suddenly drew away.

"Glad it worked out," said Davy, too quickly, too loudly. "I have to go."

Davy removed Paul's arm from around his shoulders. The glints of gold were gone, and so was the dimple.

"What's the matter?" said Paul. "Is something wrong?"

"I have to go, uh, help Marilla."

"Help her? Do what? I'm bored- can I come with you?"

"I don't think so," said Davy, who was backing away. "I have to- uh- make a cake. I mean. Bake my bed." He turned on his heel and ran, covering his face.

Paul watched his retreating form, scratching his head.

"What happened to Davy?" asked Emmaline at Paul's elbow. Paul hadn't even noticed her standing there.

"I have no idea," said Paul.

"Well, I hope he comes back soon. I like him," said Emmaline shyly, twirling one of her plaits.

Paul looked at her strangely. Was the little girl blushing?

"He'll be back," said Paul shortly. "Emmaline, can you help me clean up the flour? Davy made a bit of a mess."

As Emmaline and Paul tidied the kitchen, Paul kept absentmindedly knocking things over. He kept replaying the last few moments with Davy, trying to figure out what he'd done wrong to drive Davy away. Davy had seemed- scared, almost.

"It's just the pressure of Queens exams," Paul told himself, stacking the still-wet dishes in the cupboard. Emmaline stared, afraid to tell him- she didn't want Paul to get upset at her, but he was just acting so peculiar. "He's been studying for far too long, and his brains are addled. Or it's the sugar," he added, putting the sugar bowl where the flour jar should be. "Davy did sample too much cake batter." He glanced at the cake. Grandmother Irving's recipe was famous for a good reason, but Paul doubted the original cake had such elegant swirls of frosting. "

"Paul? That's where the flour goes," said Emmaline hesitantly. Paul looked.

"Eh?" he said vaguely. "I didn't know I did that."

"I can finish cleaning up, if you want to go do Latin," she said.

"Latin," said Paul. "Yes. I have- important things- Latin it is- thank you Emmaline." Paul blundered off to his room. Emmaline wrinkled her nose at him and kept tidying.

Davy paced up and down Lover's Lane. He was not expected back home for at least another hour, which gave him plenty of time to think. Ordinarily a restless Davy with time on his hands would have worked on his seedpod boat, but he hadn't build with seedpods in months because of tutoring and Latin. Latin wasn't so bad with Paul. Mr. Browndale was quite impressed with Davy's progress, and a few days before he'd pulled Davy aside to tell him that if he kept this up, he would not only pass Latin, but he had a chance of getting very high marks.

Pity, really, that he had to give all of that up.

Davy absolutely could not go back to the Irving mansion. He couldn't face Paul when he knew what he knew now. That was all right. He could teach himself Latin. All Paul did was liven up the lessons with stories. Davy was a master at inventing stories. He'd visited the library and read some Roman mythology last weekend, just because Paul had told him the fascinating tale of Proserpina in the course of a conjugation drill. Paul had enlivened the story in a few words, making real Ceres's grief, Pluto's fiery love and moral dilemma, and Prosperina's distaste for Pluto, fascination with the underworld, and secret rebellion against Demeter. Davy had discovered that the original myth's characters were quite different from Paul's tale. He liked Paul's tale better. Paul's Prosperina was more like a real person- a teenage girl who was tired of being under her mother's thumb and wanted to experience some dark and dangerous rebellion. Encyclopedias of mythology were all very well, but they couldn't tell the story in a low calm voice accompanied by hectically sparkling blue eyes outside in the summer sun... No. No. Davy made up his mind. He would teach himself three chapters of Latin from the old tome, and then to reward himself, he would ask Miranda to accompany him to spy on Old Mr. Harrison.

Years ago, everyone had thought Old Mr. Harrison was a crotchety old bachelor- and then his wife had arrived in town. They had passed several happy years, but then Mrs. Harrison had become ill with something mysterious (or, at least, mysterious to Mrs. Lynde, who despite her predilection for gossip refused to divulge details about Mrs. Harrison's symptoms) and passed away. Now Old Mr. Harrison was decidedly eccentric. He would have long conversations with inanimate objects, sometimes calling them "Ginger." Once Davy had seen him through the window doing a spirited, ungainly dance with his cane and humming a polka tune. When Old Mr. Harrison had spied Davy staring, he's muttered indignantly to his cane, spit, and continued dancing. Needless to say, Davy was always looking for an excuse to spy on him, but Dora would never go ("The poor man has gone insane. How can you laugh at him?"). Miranda has a sense of humor though. And so did-

James.

James was coming up Lover's Lane the opposite way.

"Davy!" he called. "Long time no see!"

"'Lo, James," said Davy as James jogged faster toward him. "How're you?"

"Quite well, and you? I haven't seen you in too long! Too good to hang around raggedy old James, eh?"

"No!" said Davy instantly. "No, it's not like that! I've just been b-"

"Busy," said James. "I know. You told me before. It's all right."

But it did not look all right. James eyes looked reproachful.

"Really," said Davy. "I've been spending all my time studying. Queens exams are coming up, and if I don't pass I don't know what I'll do."

"You don't want to be a teacher," said James. "I know that. You're just going through with it because it's expected of you."

Davy sighed. "James-"

"I'm just telling it like it is," said James. "Look at you. You spend all your time studying, poring over a subject you hate. You never come over. Miranda says you barely talk to her. You've become quiet- still. Like stagnant water. Where's your sense of adventure, Davy? What happened to the warm-blooded ruffian I used to know?"

Davy was a little rattled from the deluge. He did not reply for several minutes- just walked steadily beside James, staring at their feet. James was barefoot- his feet were crooked, callused. Dirty, yet not repulsive. They looked somehow seasoned. Davy's shod feet looked comparatively prim and childish.

"Things change, James," said Davy at last.

James did not reply. When the silence was starting to feel heavy and awkward, Davy blurted: "So what have you been up to?"
"Oh, just- things," said James. "I've been itching for a new adventure. I'm going to India next."

"India!" Davy whirled to James. "Wow! Hey, James? When you come back, can you bring me one of those statues of the dancing man with all the arms?"

James smiled. "I think I can do better than that."

"What do you mean?"

James whistled at the sky.

"What?" Davy tugged James' sleeve.

"It's a surprise," said James.

"No fair, James," Davy whined. "What are you talking about? I want to know."

"There's the Davy I know," said James, smirking.

Davy felt as though he'd been cheated somehow.

"Where are we going?" he asked sourly.

"Somewhere," said James.

Davy looked around. He'd been blindly following James. They were now surrounded by trees and green-filtered showers of sunlight. He loved the woods of P.E. Island, but he had never been here before.

"There's a stream down this hill," said James. "Follow me."

"I'm expected home soon," he said.

"Just tell them you were with me," said James. "I'm sure they'll be happy you were having fun for once."

"Mrs. Lynde won't," said Davy.

"Since when do you care what the old broad thinks?"

"The old- what?"

"Nothing."
"No- what was that word? I didn't hear you."

"It was nothing."

Davy sighed.

They approached the stream. It was more of a brook, full of stones that were perfect for hopping on. "Let's go!" said Davy, eyes shining as he turned to James. "Race you across?"

"Not right now," said James.

Davy slumped. Then he looked around again and got another idea. "The twigs from these trees are perfect for bending," he said. "Want to build Robinson Crusoe's fort?"

"Not now."

"All right. Let's go swimming!"

"No."

"What's the point of bringing me here if we're not going to have any fun? I have things to do." James' face darkened at those last words.

"Things to do," said James. "Well, Mr. Davy Keith. In the interest of not wasting more of your precious time, I have something to say to you. Just hear me out and you can go."

Davy was getting more and more confused. He sat down on a rock and waited.

And waited.

James was playing with a stick, absently whittling, but not making anything. Davy felt itchy, like he did when Mr. Browndale kept him after school for one of those serious talks.

"How would you like to go to India with me?" he asked at last.

Davy laughed. "Good one, James."

"I wasn't joking."

James was staring right at Davy, his gaze intense, concentrated. Davy fidgeted.

"James- of course I'd love to go to India. But you know I can't. It's impractical."

"What's impractical about it?"

"Well- you know- I don't have the money or anything, obviously," said Davy.

"Don't worry about that. We can live and travel cheaply, and I have quite a bit saved up," said James.

Davy wished James would blink. "Marilla would never let me go."

"You're sixteen years old, Davy. She has no right to stop you."

Of course Marilla had the right to stop him. The woman had taken him in as an orphan and brought him up. As much as Davy resented her rules sometimes, he knew that he could never go off with James on such an adventure without her blessing. He would be tortured with guilt. He'd always felt a little bit guilty even when he'd skived off Sunday school as a child.

"That's right," said Davy slowly. "I'm sixteen. I'm not a child anymore." James brightened, but then Davy continued. "I can't do it," he said. "I have to think about my future. You're right- I don't know if I want to be a teacher. But I need to. I need to pass the Queens exams and get my certification. Even if I hate teaching, I need to save up money for myself. Maybe I can use it to go to college. Or maybe I'll decide to buy the Cuthbert farm. But I can't take a trip with you now. It wouldn't be right."

"Who are you trying to convince?"

James had sat next to Davy on the warm, smooth rock. His face was turned away.

"College? The Cuthbert farm? Those paths don't suit you, Davy. You're not a plain, plodding Avonlea boy. You're special. And now you're becoming a man. You're too grown up to take a path just because some old people told you it was respectable."

Davy slapped at a gnat that had landed on his arm. The gnat came back. He waved it away.

"We could seek our fortunes together," said James. His voice was suddenly golden and rich with promise. "You and me, in India. A vast land, glittering with untold mystery. We can study Hinduism and Buddhism together. We can learn the secrets of spiritual enlightenment."

"And what will we eat?"

"Delicious savory food, flavored with mysterious Oriental spices," said James reverently.

"Not what I meant," said Davy.

"I told you, I have money," said James. "You always ask too many questions, Davy. But this time I have all the answers."

Davy stared at the glimmering stream. Last year he would have jumped on this opportunity- or at least, he would have begged and pleaded Marilla for months to let him go. Now he had no desire to at all. He wanted to see India, of course- he had burned to see the world since he was very small- but on James' money? Would James feel entitled to boss him around? And what if something went wrong- if he and James had a fight, or if James decided he wanted to stay in India forever? Would Davy be able to come back?

But going with James meant being half a world away from Paul Irving- and the farther he was from Paul, the better.

No. Paul was- too complicated to think about, and Davy's straightforward mind was dealing with too much confusion at once. In the midst of all of his confusion, he could only be certain of one thing. He did not want to go with James.

"No, James," said Davy. "Thank you for the offer, but the answer is no."

"Why?"

James' gaze intensified even more- as if he thought he could somehow change Davy's mind by staring at him.

"I'm having trouble putting it into words," Davy admitted. "But I can't go with you. And now I need to go home. Goodbye."

Before James could stop him, Davy sprinted up the hill. At the top, he realized he did not know where he was. But something stopped him from going back down to ask James. He just picked a direction and kept walking. He passed Old Mr. Harrison's. He did not look in the window- he just calculated where he was and continued on his way home. When he got there, he did not ask for shortcake or bread and jam. He did not tease Dora or even speak to her- Miranda was there too, and Miranda was the last person he needed to see right then.

Well- the second to last.

No, wait- the third.

Davy sprinted up to his room and threw himself facedown on the bed, letting his worn-out nubbly pillow embrace his face and the tears that leaked out. He did not think to be ashamed or embarrassed. He did not try to analyze the reasons for the tears. He just cried quietly until he fell asleep.

"Davy Keith!"

Davy jerked awake. His eyes were assaulted with a lot of red. Auburn.

"It's ten minutes past dinnertime!" said Anne indignantly. Then she saw the expression on his face. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," said Davy shortly, getting up and brushing the hair out of his eyes (and surreptitiously brushing away the accumulated tears).

"No you're not," said Anne immediately. She sat down on his bed and put her arm around him. "Come. Tell Anne what's wrong, and I'll make it all better."

"My problems aren't simple," said Davy.

Davy caught a glimpse of Anne's smirk before she straightened her face. "It's a girl, isn't it?" she asked. "Is it Minnie May?"

"Minnie May?" In the past few weeks Davy had practically forgotten the girl existed.

"Or is it the Donnell girl with the absurdly long name?"

"No, Anne. It's not a girl. Please stop assuming you know everything about my life. I'm not eight years old anymore."

Anne's merry face sobered down, and her grey eyes got bigger. "I'm sorry," she said. She took her arm off his shoulders. "I still look at you and think of my little Davy-boy, but I've been away for so long, and you've grown up since I've gone."

As if Davy needed any reminding of that.

"If you tell me what's the matter, I can try to help you," she continued.

"It's James, Anne," he said at last. "James invited me to go to India with him."

Anne had learned a bit about James since she'd been home, from things Miranda and Dora said. She'd still never met the fellow. He sounded like trouble.

"India?" she asked. "For how long?"

"I don't know," said Davy. "James doesn't keep schedules. He follows his inner compass. It could be a week- it could be years."

Anne scrunched her forehead. "How does he have the means to live like that?"

"I mean, he works wherever he goes," said Davy. "He saves up money somehow. He told me not to worry about money- that we both could live off his savings and find our fortune."

"I've always wanted to go to India," said Anne dreamily. "To see the Taj Mahal."

"Me too," said Davy. "But this is different. I can't go with James. I have responsibilities here- and I need to take care of my future."

"You're right about that, Davy-boy," said Anne. "Plenty of time for world travel when you've grown up to be rich and famous."

"Or just when I've grown up," said Davy. "James didn't do the normal thing, Anne. He didn't sit for Queens exams and teach. He didn't work on a farm. He didn't go to college either. And he was implying that going through with all that meant a horrible, dull life."

Anne's hunch had been right. James was trouble.

"He kept trying to make me go," said Davy. "He was making me feel guilty for studying with P- at the Irvings' house all the time. And he wouldn't take no for an answer. He was making me so confused. I mean- yes we're friends, but why would he want me along so bad anyway? Why isn't he trying to bring Miranda?"

This was beyond the scope of Anne's legendary problem-solving skills. She was at a complete loss- so she did what she knew best.

"There, there, Davy," she said, pulling him into a one-armed hug. "You made the right decision. It will be all right. As long as you keep studying as well as you've been, and pass your exams, it will be all right. Mr. Browndale told me you've been getting along very well in Latin."

Latin. Paul. Davy's head sank into his hands again.

"I'm going down to eat," said Anne. "I'll tell Marilla you're not feeling well, and I'll do my best to satisfy Mrs. Lynde's questions and pretend to take her advice."

Davy did not smile or raise his head. Anne walked out and softly closed the door.