The Puz­zling “Dos” and “Don’ts” qui­et­ly cap­tures the widen­ing gap between David’s inner world and the every­day expec­ta­tions placed upon him. With each new rule he’s asked to fol­low, David tries to bal­ance his desire to please with his need to under­stand why beau­ty must be sac­ri­ficed for labor. Pulling weeds and chop­ping wood make sense in rou­tine, but lying under apple trees and watch­ing clouds still feel more real to him. That con­trast is not lost on David, and he begins to notice how often his nat­ur­al instincts are at odds with the struc­tured way of farm life. The ten­sion grows more pro­nounced when his time out­doors leads him to a crow tied cru­el­ly in the corn­field. The bird’s strug­gle mir­rors David’s own dis­com­fort. Releas­ing the crow is not just a kind act—it’s an expres­sion of his val­ues, a silent protest against prac­tices that hurt with­out rea­son.

Per­ry Lar­son, see­ing the freed crow, can­not hide his frus­tra­tion. From his point of view, the bird was a prac­ti­cal solu­tion to a real prob­lem, not a crea­ture with a soul or rights. David, how­ev­er, does not sep­a­rate util­i­ty from kind­ness. To him, no amount of crop-sav­ing could jus­ti­fy a creature’s suf­fer­ing. This dis­agree­ment becomes more than just a debate over farm­ing meth­ods; it high­lights a deep­er divide between world­views. David’s reac­tion is not rebellious—he sim­ply can­not live with­out com­pas­sion. That same day, he notices how these dif­fer­ences stack up, how often peo­ple choose effi­cien­cy over empa­thy. Despite Perry’s anger, David’s con­science remains clear. It isn’t defi­ance; it’s who he is.

The ten­sion esca­lates when David encoun­ters two vil­lage boys boast­ing about their cru­el pas­time. Hear­ing them brag about hurt­ing ani­mals makes him feel sick. Their laugh­ter, sharp and mock­ing, con­trasts with the gen­tle rev­er­ence David holds for life. He doesn’t fight them phys­i­cal­ly but con­fronts them with some­thing more unsettling—his absolute calm. His con­fi­dence in defend­ing even the small­est life leaves the boys shak­en. They run, but the moment stays with David. This scene marks a turn­ing point. For the first time, he sees clear­ly that not every­one sees ani­mals or beau­ty the way he does. And that real­iza­tion, though painful, helps him bet­ter under­stand his role.

Back at the Hol­ly farm­house, the sto­ry of the crow reach­es Mr. and Mrs. Hol­ly, who strug­gle to inter­pret David’s choic­es. They don’t see cru­el­ty in Perry’s actions, only prac­ti­cal­i­ty. David, unable to explain him­self in terms they accept, qui­et­ly accepts their dis­ap­point­ment. But with­in him, some­thing has shift­ed. He starts to ques­tion whether fit­ting in means los­ing what he believes. These thoughts aren’t bit­ter. They’re thought­ful, shaped by the gen­tle rhythm of his past with his father and the con­fus­ing new rhythm of farm life. He tries to fol­low the “dos,” but can’t ignore the “don’ts” that feel like small betray­als of the beau­ty he once knew.

There’s pow­er in how David’s char­ac­ter con­tin­ues to be shaped not by lec­tures but by liv­ing exam­ples. When he sees ani­mals suf­fer­ing, his reac­tion is instinc­tive. When peo­ple laugh at pain, he can­not join in. These moral tests, though sim­ple, offer insights into his devel­op­ment. He is learn­ing how to hold onto his prin­ci­ples even when oth­ers mock them. That qui­et resis­tance makes his jour­ney more com­pelling. He doesn’t preach, yet his actions chal­lenge every­one around him. This sub­tle strength—this abil­i­ty to lead by example—becomes the force that grad­u­al­ly soft­ens even the most rigid minds.

The chap­ter ends with­out res­o­lu­tion, but it plants seeds for what’s com­ing. David’s heart remains open, even as the world around him seems deter­mined to hard­en his edges. He is still learn­ing, still stum­bling, but always return­ing to what his father taught him: that beau­ty, when seen with the right eyes, is every­where. The puz­zling rules of the vil­lage may shape his days, but they can­not shape his spir­it. And that qui­et insistence—that kind­ness mat­ters even when it’s inconvenient—is what makes David’s pres­ence in the vil­lage so qui­et­ly trans­for­ma­tive. His choic­es, though small, are reshap­ing the world around him.