I'm going to do every single thing she told me not to do.
You watch me." In grim, deliberate silence, while Dora watched him with the fascination of horror, Davy stepped off the green grass of the roadside, ankle deep into the fine dust which four weeks of rainless weather had made on the road, and marched along in it, shuffling his feet viciously until he was enveloped in a hazy cloud.
"That's the beginning," he announced triumphantly.

"And I'm going to stop in the porch and talk as long as there's anybody there to talk to.

I'm going to squirm and wriggle and whisper, and I'm going to say I don't know the Golden Text.

And I'm going to throw away both of my collections RIGHT NOW." And Davy hurled cent and nickel over Mr.Barry's fence with fierce delight.
"Satan made you do that," said Dora reproachfully.
"He didn't," cried Davy indignantly.

"I just thought it out for myself.
And I've thought of something else.