Isabelle and Little Orphan Frannie: The Isabelle Series, Book Three Read Free

no nothing, I’m just letting you drip until there’s no more to drip. You’ll be the original drip-dry kid. Just rinse you out and hang you up and, boy, will you be pale! You’ll look like a ghost. Ghosts don’t have any blood, you know. And when Dracula takes a peek at you, he’ll say phooey, because it won’t be worth his while to suck your blood out of you because it’s all gone. What a mess.”
    Unmoved by all this, Herbie pressed his foot down harder and said, “Okay, if that’s the way you feel, I’m taking back my ten-speed and my Havahart.”
    â€œSo you’re an Indian giver and a cheat and a toad and all the rest.” Isabelle looked past Herbie and said, “Oh, hi, how are you, little orphan Frannie. Meet Herbie, the biggest creep on the block. Frannie’s old daddy died, Herb, and her mom’s out looking for a new one.” Isabelle spoke in her best hostess manner as she performed introductions.
    Herbie turned to see who was there. No one. In the flick of an eye Isabelle seized the advantage and succeeded in flipping Herbie off her and down to the ground. Once there, she pounded Herbie’s head into the dirt.
    â€œI’m bleeding, I’m bleeding!” Herbie cried. “No fair using feet. That’s cheating.”
    â€œLook who’s talking.”
    â€œIsabelle! Time!” Her mother’s voice rang out.
    â€œComing!” Isabelle gave Herbie’s head one last thump and took off at a high rate of speed for home.
    Herbie got to his feet, hitched up his trousers and, muttering to himself, headed for home. His mother would have a fit when she saw the blood all over his shirt. So who cared. His mother had lots of fits. She always recovered.
    And after supper Isabelle went to her room and wrote on her blackboard in big letters: “ HERBIE IS A WEASEL AND A TOAD AND A CHEAT .”
    She stood back to see how it looked. Then she added: “ AND A TURKEY .”
    Then, after further scrutiny, she wrote in very small letters: “i have read 43 books.”
    That looked good, if not exactly the case.
    She went back to the blackboard, crossed out the “43” and put in its place “½” and erased the “s” on “books” so it read right.
    â€œAt least I tell the truth,” Isabelle announced to the empty room. “That’s more than some people I know.”

FOUR
    â€œI got a postcard from Sally Smith,” said Jane Malone next morning before the bell rang. “She loves her new school. She’s made two new friends already. Her new teacher is nice, she says, but not as nice as Mrs. Esposito.”
    â€œI probably got one too,” Isabelle said. “I forgot to check the mail. Sally said she was going to write me every day. Maybe she lost my address. I wrote it on a teeny little piece of paper.”
    She felt a sharp stab of pain. Maybe Sally Smith had written to everybody except her. Sally was her friend. Maybe she’d run out of stamps. Maybe she had writer’s cramp from writing postcards to everyone in town except Isabelle.
    â€œHello there.” Quick as a wink, Mary Eliza shot her arm through Isabelle’s and held her in her iron grip.
    â€œGuess what?” Before Mary Eliza opened her big bazoo, Isabelle knew what she was going to say.
    â€œI got a postcard from Sally Smith.” Mary Eliza said it. “She has two cute boys on her new block. One of them’s in her class. She cried for two whole days, she was so homesick. But now she likes her new house and her new school and the two cute boys. Isn’t that too much?” Mary Eliza relaxed her grip for a second and Isabelle took off. If Chauncey told her that he got a postcard from Sally Smith, she thought she might throw up.
    â€œHey, Isabelle! How ya doing?” Guy Gibbs yelled.
    â€œHi, Guy,” Isabelle said. “How’s it going?” She could tell from looking