"You must be more careful," said Mrs. Huntington, "in your choice of friends." "Everybody likes Susie," returned Jeanne, loyally. "Her people are common," explained Mrs. Huntington. "I should be _glad_ to have you bring Lydia Coleman or Ethel Bailey home with you." "I don't like them," said Jeanne. "Why not?" "There isn't a bit of fun in them," declared Jeanne, blushing because their resemblance to her cousins was her real reason for disliking them. "Well, there's Cora Farnsworth. Surely there's plenty of fun in Cora." "I don't like Cora, either. She says mean things just to _be_ funny," explained Jeanne, who had often suffered from Cora's "fun." "I don't like that kind of girls." "Lydia, Ethel, and Cora live _on the Avenue_," returned Mrs. Huntington. "You _ought_ to like them. At any rate, you must bring no more East Side children home with you. I can't have them in my house." Mrs. Huntington always talked about the Avenue as Bridget, who was very religious, talked of heaven. When their ship came in, Mrs. Huntington said, they should have a home in the Avenue. The old house they were in, she said, was quite impossible. Old Mr. Huntington, Jeanne gathered, did not wish to move to the more fashionable street. Jeanne wondered about that ship of Aunt Agatha's. The river--she had seen it once--was a small, muddy affair. Surely no ship that could sail up that shallow stream would be worth waiting for. She asked her grandfather about it. Her grandfather frowned. "We won't talk about that ship," said he. "I don't like it!" "Don't you like boats?" asked Jeanne. "Very much, but not that kind." Jeanne was usually a very well-behaved child, but one Saturday in June she fell from grace. An out-of-town visitor, a very uninteresting friend of Mrs. Huntington's, had expressed a wish to see the park. Pearl, Clara, and Jeanne were sent to escort her there. It was rather a bracing day. Walking sedately along the cement walks seemed, to high-spirited Jeanne, a very tame occupation. Presently she lagged behind to feed the crumbs she had thoughtfully concealed in her pocket to a sad squirrel with a skinny tail. He was not half as nice as the chipmunks that sometimes scampered out on the Cinder Pond dock, but he reminded her of those cheerful animals. The squirrel seized a crumb and scampered up a tree. Jeanne looked at the tree. "Why," said she, "it's a climb-y tree just like that big one on the bank behind Old Captain's house. I wonder--" Off came Jeanne's jacket. She dropped it on the grass, seized the lowest branch, and in three minutes was perched, like a bluebird, well toward the top of the tree. About that time, her cousins missed her and turned back. Unhappily, the park policeman noticed the swaying of the topmost branches of that desecrated tree and hurried to investigate. Clara and Pearl arrived in time to hear the policeman shout: "Here, boy! Come down from there. It's against the park rules to climb trees."