little thrill of pride, and felt like a full grown man. But it was the thought of the other girls of her acquaintance and her sister that always unnerved her. They stayed in the house and helped their mothers with the housework. True, her sister was small and sickly, but at times Molly wished that she were too. Her father was already hitching the horses to the wagon. She lingered at the table feeling rebellious and angry. She spoke sharply to her sister, and when her mother informed her that her father was ready, the hateful reply was, "Well, what do 1 care." But she did hurry, nevertheless, and soon was bumping along on the hay rack to get the first load. The day was indeed to be a hot one. All about her seemed stifling heat through which the sun beat down unceasingly. By the time the first load of heavy green hay was in, Molly was extremely tired. "The next load will be drier," her father told her. "See the black couds in the west. Bet it'll be raining by six o'clock. Cheer up Molly. What's the matter this time?" "Dad, I'm sick of this old farm. I just can't stand it any longer" Molly had become brave at last. "That hay's too heavy and I'm tired. I hate it." She saw the pained look creep into his eyes. Molly was his choice and had been by his side helping in the fields ever since she was able to walk. She turned hastily away and swinging herself up on the rack said, "Let's hurry and get the rest before it rains." Clouds gathered quickly and hung low in the sky. They hid the rays of the sun, making it a trifle cooler; but everything was motionless and soundless except for an occasional cry of a killdeer or the snorting of a horse. The last load was on the wag-on and all that remained was to get it into the barn. Molly worked in the barn and her father ran the huge derrick fork which was pulled by one of the horses. She worked fast although she was tired, so that they might finish it before it began to rain. There would only be a few more forkfulls now. Her father pulled the fork down and yelled up to Molly, "Stand back, Molly. I'll send up an extra big forkfull this time and we'll keep the rest down to feed tonight. Molly climbed into the farthest corner. The horse seemed to be having a hard time. It started several times and then backed up. "Get a stick and make her go," she heard her father call. Then the horse lunged forward and the huge fork of hay began to rise slowly, in the air. It went slowly, swinging back and forth. It would reach the track any moment now. Molly experienced a quick sensation of dread. Why didn't it hurry and reach the carrier? Then suddnely a ripping, grinding crack, "The cable!" she screamed. It had broken and the hay had not reached the track. Released from the strong support of the cable, it had crashed back upon the wagon. Molly ran to the edge of the hay stack. "Daddy, Daddy," she moaned, "Oh, Daddy." How well she knew that he would never have time to get out from under that swift falling fork! She was unable to see the wagon from the stack and now that her father was hurt there was no one to put up a ladder. She tried several places of descent but each one seemed too perilous. Finally in a frenzy of fear she slid recklessy down one side. Her father was nowhere to be seen. Molly forgot everything except her wild desire to get to him. She seized a fork and began pitching the hay off. Already it had begun to rain, but she knew that her daddy was under that heavy fork, buried beneath the hay. At last she found him motionless and white, blood streaming from a gash on one side of his head. She knelt down and put her cheek against his. "Oh, Daddy, Molly still loves you. Can't you open your eyes and look at me?" She scraped the hay off his body and lifting his head examined the gash. The blood made her sick. But the rain which sud-denly began to pour down washed it away. Molly tried to shield him but it was impossible. She couldn't leave him now to go for help. She would have to wait unti it stopped raining a little. The rain seemed to revive the wounded man. He suddenly opened his eyes. "Raining, Molly?" he whispered. "Oh, Daddy, you're not dead! You're not dead," she cried. "What happened, Molly?" But Molly could not answer. She covered her father's body the best she could with hay to protect him from the rain, and lay trembling beside him. It was nearly dark when her exhausted form was lifted carefully in strong arms and her wounded father was gently carried to a large car which rushed them to the house. After her father was pronounced "not seriously injured but would probably be laid up for the rest of the summer," Molly allowed herself to be put to bed, not before going, however, to her father who had called her to his bedside and said, "Molly, you'll look after things, won't you?" Molly had gently kissed his bloodless cheeks. Red Dress By Gladys Anderson FROM her chair at the kitchen table, Sally watched her family drink their morning coffee. Her mother, as usual, was as unkempt as her own slovenly carelessness and the earliness of the morning could make her; her eyes puffy, her skin muddy and sagging from personal neglect. From her mother she turned to her sister who was engaged in banging the coffee pot about the stove in an attempt to pour a third cup of coffee. Sally shuddered slightly; the girl's face was almost a mask of paint, and her hair curled and recurled. "Wash your neck sometime, Nina; we need relief." "Yeah, sometime." "Teacher ever kick when she notices it?" "She's used to it." "Ever consider surprising her?" "Naw, shock'd hurt 'er." "Well, can you refrain from wearing my clothes like you refrain from washing your neck?" "Never wear 'em." "Don't again today." This sharply. Under the light banter of their conversation ran a current of dislike. Sally always experienced a red mist when she beheld her sister in one of her freshly pressed dresses. On the other hand, Nina's emotion, although she was usually the guilty one, was as strong as her sister's. She held a hatred that is peculiar to many people when they find themselves accosted by the righteous fury of their accusers. From her observance Sally turned suddenly to her watch, noted that it was late, and rose from the table hurriedly. She ran for her hat and pulled its small shapliness over her head, powdered her nose, and was almost to the door before her mother's voice stopped her. "Home early tonight, Sally? Be here to cook? It's you or Nina-" "Not Nina, dearest; got an important school meeting. Couldn't miss it. Anyway, could I cook? No. Onion odors get in my hair and stick to my hands." "Then it's you, Sally. If you won't, no club for mother." "Oh, you'll go; you always go. I wanted to get my dress, but a dollar'll keep it safe another day. "I'll cook." She looked at Nina, whose eyes appeared interested. "New dress for Sally?" "Yes, for Sally." She slammed the door and ran, barely gaining her car. She found a seat and sank into it wearily. The morning, young as yet, had left her depressed and sullen. Still, weren't all mornings the same? Had she ever been really happy? Her life had known only wranglings over nothings. She remembered the quarrel with Nina that had left them both sullen for weeks. It began when Sally used more than her share of the hot water in the morning. She bore all these things with patience, but nothing in her life equalled what she felt when she discovered Nina had worn her clothes. She even bore her mother's light-fingerdness more tolerantly. Yes, all things considered, she could find no trait that relieved to any degree, the faults of mother and daughter. Her mother, of course was too large to wear her clothes, the only fact which saved Sally from hating her mother as she hated Nina. She was grateful that her office work kept her from thinking; and she longed for the ride to work in the morning; dreaded it at night. At any time, riding homeward, she could not resist thinking about her mother and sister. She knew well she was wrong in allowing herself to hate them as she did, but on occasions similar to the time Nina had worn her little blue pumps and ruined them in the slush, she felt justified for her antipathy. "Nearing St. Francis." The conductor's call interrupted her reverie. Her mind turned to the prospect of her new dress. "Maybe it'll make him forget the new girl." Her heart went cold. To win him back she had banked everything upon the new dress. "Maybe he'll notice that I'm prettier than she,that my hair's prettier,