“Now, don’t you fuss me all up, Miss Amy,” admonished the child. “Where was I at!”
“You was at the Norwood place. I brought you,” said young Shannon.
“Don’t you think I know that?” demanded the little girl scornfully. “Well, it’s about Padriac Haney’s great uncle,” she hastened to say. “Padriac was my father’s name and his great uncle—I suppose that means that he was awful big—p’r’aps like that fat man in the circus we saw. But his name was Padriac too, and he left all his money and islands and golf courses to my father. So it is coming to me.”
“Goodness!” exclaimed Nell Stanley. “Did you ever hear such a jumbled-up affair?”
But Montmorency Shannon nodded solemnly. “Guess it’s so. Mrs. Foley was telling my mother something about it. And Spot—I mean, Hen, must have fallen heiress to money, for she give me a whole half dollar to drive her over here,” and his grin appeared again.
“What I want to know is the name of the island, child?” demanded Amy, recovering from her laughter.
“Well, it’s got a name all right,” said Henrietta. “It is Station Island. And there’s a hotel on it. But that hotel don’t belong to me. And the radio station don’t belong to me.”
“O-oh! A radio station!” repeated Jessie. “That sounds awfully interesting. I wonder where it is!”
“But the golf course belongs to me, and some bungleloos,” added the child, mispronouncing the word with her usual emphasis. “And we are going out to this island to spend the summer—Bertha and me. Mrs. Blair says we can. And she will go, too. The man that knows about it has told the Blairs how to get there and—and—I invite you, Miss Jessie, and you, Miss Amy, to come out on Station Island and visit us. Oh, we’ll have fun!”
“That sounds better than any old farm,” cried Amy, gaily. “I accept, Hen, on the spot. You can count on me.”