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16 THE MONMAL. perfectly good walls of the playroom. Tonight, however, he felt strangely listless. What was the matter with him anyhow? Hadn’t his team won in the ball game? Wasn’t he the best swim mer on the place? Hadn’t he just licked fat old Jack Smith? Still Tim scowled at the other boys, and still he fumed and fret ted. “Look at old Batty over there! All puffed up jist ‘cause Milly said she’d be his girl. Shucks! Who wants an old girl? They’re such silly, giggly things. If I was goin’ to pick a girl, I ’d pick a good-lookin’ one. Let’s see. Who'd I pick, I wonder. June ain’t bad lookin’, but gee, she’s so crazy. Thinks she’s smart. Say, Molly ain’t a bad looking one, either. I’d kinda like Molly, if only she hadn’t beat me in that race we had. What right has a girl to run races? Girls can’t rim. She makes me tired. The fellows laughed for a week afterward.’’ So went Tim’s thoughts, racing from anger at Molly to a kindly feeling, as he would sud denly visualize her sweet smile and friendly eyes. “Wonder who is Molly’s fellow. Never heard any of the kids talk about her bein’ his girl.” Tim’s thoughts shifted aimlessly to other topics. That night, as the boys were going to bed, Tim’s neighbor won- cfered at the savage tone of Tim’s reply when he was asked, “Say, Radish, who’s your girl?” The pleasant last days of August came and went. The Home children were all excitedly planning for the big, culminating event of the summer, the picnic. Every year in the latter part of August every orphan who has come to the Home, glories in the greatest day of his life. Before dawn in the morning one can see the children stirring around, finding their places in the great straw-filled hayracks, bustlingly making absurd preparations, and generally making nuisances of themselves. Long before starting time the little girls, strangely decked out in their ideas of picnicing clothes, are anxiously waiting, worried for fear they’ll be missed, and little boys are driving the matrons frantic, los ing their caps, stealing the lunch, scaring the horses, and forgetting to carry important messages which they had so eagerly volunteer ed to deliver. The excitement of the coming picnic had driven Molly’s worry into the background of her thoughts. To be sure, she had a pang or two whenever she saw one of the important emissaries rush up with a bag of something to give to an equally important