"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."
"If it is all right so that we can go, I will promise to visit you, dear," Jessie agreed. "But, you know, we really will have to learn more about it."
"Cousin Bertha will tell you," said the freckle-faced child, eagerly. "I run away to come down here to the Foleys, so as to tell you first. You are the very first folks I have ever invited to come to live on my island."
"Ain't you going to let me come, Spot—I mean, Hen?" asked Monty Shannon, who sat sidewise on the seat and was paying very little attention to the pony.
As a matter of fact, the pony belonging to the vegetable vender was so old and sedate that one would scarcely think it necessary to watch him. But at this very moment a red car, traveling at a pace much over the legal speed on a public highway, came dashing around the turn just below the Norwood house. It took the turn on two wheels, and as it swerved dangerously toward the curb where the pony stood, its rear wheels skidded.
"Look out!" shrieked Amy. "That car is out of control! Look, Jess!"