The Monmal (Dillon, Mont.) 1906-1918, May 01, 1918, Image 15

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THE MONMAL. 17 looking little girl. Just now the offerings were especially numer­ ous, the boys wishing to furnish their girls with special treats for the picnic day. Although she had no bag of fruit or cookies to fortify her on her way to the mountains, Molly was actually happy. And Tim! Radish was in his glory. Now and then his fifty cents threatened to bum itself through his pocket. Now and then he glanced fiercely at some complacent-looking boy, who had just sped a little messenger on his way. But on the whole Radish had ceased to fret. He now had no time for girls. He was planning great things. His bunch was going to walk clear to the mountains and home again. Although there was no drop of water to be had between the town and the mountains, six miles away, yet each boy had his drinking can. Each had his knapsack and walking- stick. They were making wonderful plans, and for the present the subject of girls was eclipsed. Picnic day dawned radiant. As usual every child was frantic to start two hours before time. As usual several were left behind and had to be sent after. As usual many valiant boys and daring girls attempted the walk to the mountains. Most of these, however, found the hayracks very cozy when they finally did clamber on. Molly was just a happy little part of a happy crowd. She ate and slept and laughed and sang with the rest of them. She cried a little', too, when a big girl inconsiderately sat on her; and she had innumerable fights with her enroaching neighbors. The hayracks dumped their crowds down on the picnic grounds at about ten o’clock. Radish’s crowd was there already, in pos- ession of the picnic grounds and the nicest trees for horses. Molly eagerly jumped down and ran to the best excuse for a horse that she could find, a scrubby bent little fir. “Say, Corkscrew, here’s a better horse. Ja want it?” came a harsh voice from her right. Molly looked around to see Radish’s flaming head looming up over the top of a fine, slender, springy pine. She forgot her indignation at being called “Corkscrew”. The horse looked so nice. “But what’ll you do for one?” she asked. “Huh! I don’t want a horse. That’s a girl’s game. Say, if you don’t want this, I know lots of girls that do,” he said testily. Soon Molly was comfortably swaying on the best horse in

The Monmal (Dillon, Mont.), 01 May 1918, located at <>, image provided by MONTANA NEWSPAPERS, Montana Historical Society, Helena, Montana.