Little Henrietta looked serious for her; but Mrs. Foley took her part at once.
“Sure don’t be expectin’ too much of the child at wance, Bertha. She’s run as wild as the wind itself here. She’s fought and played with these Dogtown kids since she was able to toddle around. What would ye expect?”
“But she must learn,” declared the older girl. “Mrs. Blair won’t take us to the island this summer if she is not good.”
“Then I’ll go myself,” announced Henrietta. “It’s my island, ain’t it? Who has a better right there?”
Jessie took a hand at this point, shaking her head gravely at the freckled little girl.
“Do you suppose, Henrietta Haney, that your friends—like Mrs. Foley or Mrs. Blair, or even Amy and I—will want to come to your island to see you if you are not a good girl?”
“Say, if I get rich can’t I do like I want to—like other rich folks?”
“You most certainly cannot. Rich people, if they are to be loved, must be even more careful in their conduct than poor folks.”
“We-ell,” confessed the freckled little girl frankly, “I’d rather be rich than be loved. If I can’t be both easy, I’ll be rich.”
“Such amazing worldliness!” sighed Amy, raising her hands in mock horror.