Before she left home in the early morning, Grandma saw to it that
there was no fire in the old-new washtub stove, and that Sally's
knitted string harness was on, so that she could not reach the
irrigation ditch, and that Carrie was tethered.

The beets, planted two months ago, had come up in even green
rows. Now they must be thinned. With short-handled hoes the
grown people chopped out foot-long strips of plants. Dick and
Rose-Ellen followed on hands and knees, and pulled the extra
plants from the clumps so that a single strong plant was left
every twelve inches.

The sun rose higher and hotter in the big blue bowl of sky.
Rose-Ellen's ragged dress clung to her, wet with sweat, and her
arms and face prickled with heat. Grandma looked at her from
under the apron she had flung over her head.

"Run and stretch out under the cottonwood awhile," she said. "No
use for to get sunstroke."


Rose-Ellen went silently, thankfully. It was cooler in the shade
of the tree. She looked up through the fluttering green leaves
at the floating clouds shining in the sun. Jimmie hobbled around
her, driving Sally with her knitted reins, but they did not keep
their sister awake. The sun was almost noon-high when she opened
her eyes, and she hurried guiltily back to the beets.

She had never seen such a big field, its green and brown stripes
waving up and down to the skyline. It made her ache to think