He creeps up behind her, you know, and then lets go.

He was determined to have a bonfire for you, too.

He's been piling up branches for a fortnight and pestering Marilla to be let pour some kerosene oil over it before setting it on fire.

I guess she did, by the smell, though Mrs.Lynde said up to the last that Davy would blow himself and everybody else up if he was let." Anne was out of the buggy by this time, and Davy was rapturously hugging her knees, while even Dora was clinging to her hand.
"Isn't that a bully bonfire, Anne?
Just let me show you how to poke it--see the sparks?
I did it for you, Anne, 'cause I was so glad you were coming home." The kitchen door opened and Marilla's spare form darkened against the inner light.

She preferred to meet Anne in the shadows, for she was horribly afraid that she was going to cry with joy--she, stern, repressed Marilla, who thought all display of deep emotion unseemly.
Mrs.Lynde was behind her, sonsy, kindly, matronly, as of yore.