“Speaking of radio,” Jessie said suddenly, the matter of the five-dollar bill coming to her mind, “have you heard anything about the circulation of counterfeit money, Darry?”

The latter shook his head and looked surprised. Jessie told him of the special radio announcement that had come to them the night before and of their subsequent finding that the five-dollar bill in Amy’s possession was a counterfeit.

Darry listened with interest, but his chief concern seemed to be for Amy and the loss of her five dollars.

“Hard luck,” he laughed. “Now she will have to do without George Washington sundaes for the next six months to make up.”

“But the poor girl who gave her that five-dollar bill——”

“Poor girl!” exploded Darry, sitting up straight in his seat to stare at Jessie in astonishment. “I am used to your kind heart, Jess, but this is more than I could expect, even of you. Why pity a girl who passes a counterfeit bill? She probably is one of a gang of counterfeiters.”

“Oh, I should hate to believe that,” said Jessie, quickly. “Somehow, she didn’t look exactly dishonest.”

“Yet she gave you—or Amy, rather—a counterfeit bill in exchange for five good ones,” Darry argued. “That doesn’t seem exactly honest, you know.”

“Just the same, I don’t intend to believe any one guilty until the guilt is proved,” said Jessie, stoutly, and Darry, from the superior heights of his age, bent upon her a tolerant smile. Despite his slightly patronizing manner, Darry really regarded this chum of Amy’s as one of the squarest, most companionable girls he knew. For her age, he conceded, magnanimously, she sure was a wonder!

“All right,” he said. “Believe anything you like. And now, to change the subject to something more pleasant, Miss Alling told Burd that you girls would set the time to go; so, just when will you and Amy be ready for the trip to Forest Lodge?”

That, indeed, was the all-important question to the Radio Girls in the days that followed. Although they had numerous costumes for all occasions, they suddenly discovered that their wardrobes contained nothing that was really suitable for a vacation in a real, honest-to-goodness forest. This sad state of affairs, they decided unanimously, must be remedied immediately.

“Because one cannot possibly have a good time,” Amy had argued, flippantly, “until one has the proper kind of clothes.”

“It will be a dreadful bore to have to go shopping just now,” said Jessie, who was impatient of anything that would delay the wonderful trip. “But if we must, we must.”

“You always have such a clear way of putting things, honey,” said Amy, irrepressibly. “And, oh, I saw the darlingest sports suits and things in Letterblair’s window.”

Letterblair’s was a fashionable shop in the downtown district of New Melford where the girls and their mothers did most of their shopping. It was from this shop that Jessie had won a beautiful sports coat, offered as a prize to the girl in New Melford who could think up the cleverest and most unique idea for a charitable bazaar that was to be held on the lawn of the Norwood estate. Jessie’s idea—the prize one—had been the devoting of one “concession” on the bazaar grounds to radio. The radio tent had been a tremendous success and, oh, how Jessie had enjoyed wearing that sports coat!

So now it was to Letterblair’s that they went in search of suitable apparel for this newest outing.

On the way to town they determined to stop and see Nell Stanley. Although they intended to urge her to accompany them on their trip to Forest Lodge, they had very little hope that she would be able to go.

Nell was the eldest daughter of the Reverend Doctor Stanley, a minister much beloved in New Melford. “The Reverend,” as Nell affectionately called him, was a widower with four children, three younger than Nell. Although the income of the Stanley family was small, Nell managed wonderfully. Strong, healthy and capable, the young girl presided cheerfully over the parsonage and cared for her two younger brothers and her little sister, to whom she was elder sister and mother as well.

Because of her many responsibilities, it was only upon rare occasions that Nell could share in the fun of the other two girls. But, in spite of all this and hard as her life might seem to some, no one had ever heard Nell Stanley complain.

Nell herself greeted them as they came up to the parsonage. She was wearing a clean gingham dress and a dust cap and her handsome face was shining with health and hard work.

“Hello!” she cried gayly. “You two look like conspirators. Come in if you can find room,” she invited, leading the way into the cluttered front room of the parsonage. “Sally and the two boys muss things up more quickly than I can straighten them out, I think.”

Nell listened sympathetically while the two girls told her of the trip to Forest Lodge, but shook her head regretfully when they said Miss Alling wanted her to accompany them.

“I don’t see how I could manage it,” she said, adding thoughtfully: “Though I might get Mrs. Tompkins to take care of the children and keep house——”

“Nell, you have a wonderful mind,” said Amy, with conviction. “Mrs. Tompkins was the very person I was about to suggest!”

“I suppose the children would run wild,” said Nell, hesitating.

“Let ’em. It would do them good for two weeks,” said Amy.

“Nothing very bad could happen in that short time,” Jessie added, pleadingly. “And, Nell, we would have such fun.”

“Don’t you suppose I know it?” retorted Nell, longingly. But she added, as she picked up a few of the scattered playthings in an attempt to restore the room to order: “I will ask the Reverend about it, anyway; and if I can get Mrs. Tompkins I may go with you yet. Now run along downtown like good children. And you might bring us some ice-cream cones on the way back. The young ones would appreciate it particularly.”

The girls agreed gayly, after winning from her a promise that she would come over some evening soon and “listen in” with them.

“And bring Fol with you,” Amy added, as they went off. “He is a rather nice boy, considering his age.”

In answer to this sally Nell laughed good-naturedly and made a face at Amy, an action—and Nell herself would have been the first to admit it—that was not at all a good example to set her ever-watchful and imitative little sister, Sally.

Once at Letterblair’s, the girls discovered numerous other needs which had not occurred to them before, and it was past noon when they had successfully finished their shopping.

“Now for home and lunch. Jess, I have an idea—” Amy paused and regarded her chum meditatively. “Why not run into that darling little new restaurant down the street and have a bite to eat there? It will be a lark.”

“Suppose we do,” agreed Jessie. “I feel as though I would not be able to walk home without partaking of some nourishment first.”

“I declare, it is late,” said Amy, as she glanced from the store clock to her wrist watch. “If I had had any notion you were going to keep me so long in this place, Jess Norwood, I would not have let you come with me.”

“I like that!” laughed Jessie. “Especially since I have been waiting for you to get through for the past half hour.”

“So are the righteous slandered,” sighed Amy. “My friends have formed the habit of putting all the blame upon my frail shoulders— Hello, what have we here?”

She brought up short just outside the door of the shop and Jessie, following hurriedly, nearly ran into her.

“Why the sudden halt?” she inquired. And just then came a shriek, whether of joy or anguish it would have been hard to tell.

The next moment a small cyclone flung itself upon Jessie and held on to her, still shrieking—much to the delight of the passersby.

“Help, call out the reserves!” chortled Amy, her voice choked with laughter, while Jessie tried vainly to disengage herself from the clutches of the small cyclone. “Henrietta Haney, do stop that shrieking. Oh—oh, you will be the death of me, yet!”

By this time Jessie had been able to push her small assailant away from her, and, by holding very tightly to a pair of waving arms, found it possible to look into a small pointed face upon which every freckle stood forth.

“Henrietta Haney—Hen,” admonished Jessie, with what severity the occasion permitted. “Do stop making so much noise, my dear. Why, everybody is looking at us.”

“Well,” said this surprising child, “I shouldn’t mind their lookin’, if I was you, Miss Jessie. Ma Foley always says no amount of lookin’ ever hurt no one.”

Jessie shot a helpless look at her chum, who was convulsed with mirth. Little Henrietta Haney, who had first introduced herself to the Radio Girls as a little waif from Dogtown—a down-at-heel district encroaching upon Roselawn—in search of her missing cousin, Bertha Blair, had since figured largely in their adventures. Owing to the interest of Mr. Norwood and Mr. Drew—both lawyers—the little girl had recently come into possession of part of Station Island. Henrietta, or “Hen,” as she was familiarly called, was inordinately proud of her inheritance and seldom overlooked an opportunity to make reference to “her island.”

Now Jessie and Amy moved the child to a less conspicuous spot and questioned her concerning her presence there.

“You surely did not come to New Melford all alone, Hen,” said Jessie, in concern, for she really would not have been greatly surprised at anything the wild child might do. “Isn’t somebody with you?”

“Well, Bertha come with me,” said the child, complacently; “but I left her.”

“You what?” gasped Amy.

“I left her,” repeated Hen, patiently. “We was comin’ along, and all of a sudden I looks over and sees you and Miss Jessie and I just run through the crowd and left Bertha. I didn’t knock over more than one person, either,” she finished proudly. “And he was a little fat boy it didn’t hurt none.”

“It only goes to show there is good in everything, even fat,” cried Amy, in a strangled voice, and even Jessie had to smile.

“And you haven’t the least idea where Bertha is now?” questioned Jessie, searching the passing crowds for a familiar face.

“Oh, she’ll turn up, Miss Jessie. She always does,” said the child, confidently, adding with the first trace of anxiety she had exhibited: “But I hope she don’t take too long. I got an awful ache where my tummy is. I’m gettin’ hungry, I guess.”

Amy went off into a fresh paroxysm of mirth while Jessie questioned the child closely as to the exact location of Bertha and herself when the little girl had first seen the two Radio Girls. Being able to extract but the vaguest information from Hen, Jessie came to the conclusion that the only sensible thing to do was to wait just where they were until Bertha found them.

“It was very naughty of you to run away so, Henrietta,” she scolded gently. “I hope you will never do a thing like that again.”

“But, Miss Jessie!” the child protested, with wide-eyed surprise, “if I hadn’t run away from Bertha I couldn’t have caught you. I just had to run away.”

At this logic Jessie shook her head helplessly while Amy regarded the remarkable child with unfeigned delight. As a matter of fact, Henrietta Haney was a perpetual joy to the fun-loving Amy—“better than a box seat at the circus,” she herself expressed it.

“There’s Bertha now!” shrieked the child, suddenly, and made another wild dash through the crowd, bumping into half a dozen indignant pedestrians as she went.

Amy, watching this progress with delight, chuckled softly.

“Thank goodness she is in Bertha’s charge, not ours!” she said.