"I don't feel like praying after all.

I haven't felt like it for a week now.

I--I DIDN'T pray last night nor the night before." "Why not, Davy ?" asked Anne gently.
"You--you won't be mad if I tell you ?" implored Davy.
Anne lifted the little gray-flannelled body on her knee and cuddled his head on her arm.
"Do I ever get 'mad' when you tell me things, Davy ?" "No-o-o, you never do.

But you get sorry, and that's worse.

You'll be awful sorry when I tell you this, Anne--and you'll be 'shamed of me, I s'pose." "Have you done something naughty, Davy, and is that why you can't say your prayers ?" "No, I haven't done anything naughty--yet.