She had been afraid she would be alone in a crowd of boys . Mirabel was almost as bad as a boy -- she was so noisy and sunburned and reckless . But at least she wore dresses . `` We 've come to go fishing , '' announced Davy . `` Whoop , '' yelled the Cottons . They rushed away to dig worms at once , Mirabel leading the van with a tin can . Dora could have sat down and cried . Oh , if only that hateful Frank Bell had never kissed her ! Then she could have defied Davy , and gone to her beloved Sunday School . They dared not , of course , go fishing on the pond , where they would be seen by people going to church . They had to resort to the brook in the woods behind the Cotton house . But it was full of trout , and they had a glorious time that morning -- at least the Cottons certainly had , and Davy seemed to have it . Not being entirely bereft of prudence , he had discarded boots and stockings and borrowed Tommy Cotton 's overalls . Thus accoutered , bog and marsh and undergrowth had no terrors for him . Dora was frankly and manifestly miserable . She followed the others in their peregrinations from pool to pool , clasping her Bible and quarterly tightly and thinking with bitterness of soul of her beloved class where she should be sitting that very moment , before a teacher she adored . Instead , here she was roaming the woods with those half-wild Cottons , trying to keep her boots clean and her pretty white dress free from rents and stains . Mirabel had offered the loan of an apron but Dora had scornfully refused . The trout bit as they always do on Sundays . In an hour the transgressors had all the fish they wanted , so they returned to the house , much to Dora 's relief .
She sat primly on a hencoop in the yard while the others played an uproarious game of tag ; and then they all climbed XXXXX the top of the pig-house roof and cut their initials on the saddleboard .
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