"Oh, Davy, gentlemen don't do things like that."

"I know they don't," said Davy, as soon as he could speak, "but I ain't
a gemplum."

"But don't you want to be?" said shocked Anne.

"Course I do. But you can't be a gemplum till you grow up."

"Oh, indeed you can," Anne hastened to say, thinking she saw a chance to
sow good seed betimes. "You can begin to be a gentleman when you are a
little boy. And gentlemen NEVER snatch things from ladies . . . or forget
to say thank you . . . or pull anybody's hair."

"They don't have much fun, that's a fact," said Davy frankly. "I guess
I'll wait till I'm grown up to be one."

Marilla, with a resigned air, had cut another piece of cake for Dora.
She did not feel able to cope with Davy just then. It had been a hard
day for her, what with the funeral and the long drive. At that moment
she looked forward to the future with a pessimism that would have done
credit to Eliza Andrews herself.

The twins were not noticeably alike, although both were fair. Dora had
long sleek curls that never got out of order. Davy had a crop of fuzzy
little yellow ringlets all over his round head. Dora's hazel eyes were
gentle and mild; Davy's were as roguish and dancing as an elf's. Dora's
nose was straight, Davy's a positive snub; Dora had a "prunes and
prisms" mouth, Davy's was all smiles; and besides, he had a dimple