“Your mother must be a dear. Well, I know she is, from what I saw of her last year. Mother says that she wants to know her better, judging from what she has seen of you this summer.”
“Why, how nice! Gypsy, you’ll spoil me.”
“No I won’t. You’re unspoilable! But I’d like to be friends with you forever. Honestly, Betty, I’m not going to be crabby about your being with Carolyn, or Peggy, or anybody.”
“It wouldn’t be like you, Kathryn; and let’s make a sure-bond of friendship, to tell each other things the way we have this summer. And you can count on me, Kathryn, not to say mean things about you; so if Mathilde or anybody says things, please come straight to me about it, will you?”
“Yes, I will, but I couldn’t believe that you could say mean things; you don’t say them about anybody.”
“Oh, dear, I’m afraid I do criticize sometimes!”
“I never heard you say a mean thing—so live up to what I think of you, Betty Lee!” Kathryn was grinning at Betty now.
“I’ll try to,” laughed Betty. “It’s good of you to think I’m nice. Wait till I bring you another piece of fudge.” Betty dashed into the house, to return with the fudge pan, which they placed between them. That fudge was good. It was in just the right stage, a little soft, but firm enough to hold in pieces. It certainly did melt in one’s mouth.
“Is the back door locked?” asked Kathryn.
“Yes, indeedy. We must go in pretty soon, for Father will be driving out early. He said he was going to take us to a chicken dinner at Rockmont, a real country dinner. I hope they’ll have corn on the cob!”