"Plains City is two miles east," Pete directed. "There'll be a grocery there soon if one hasn't set up already." "I'll ride there tomorra," Silas Wentworth declared. "I'll go the minute I can leave my fam'ly. But a body who can ask more than his quarter section of land like this," he looked happily about his farm, "sure is hard to please." "What we really came for," Mr. Simpson spoke up, "is to see if we can borrow a couple of spades." "Sure thing an' welcome," Silas Wentworth said. He brought a couple of good spades from his wagon. "Anything else the Wentworths got, you can have." "Thanks," said Pete, "but these are all we need right now." They started back. Pete Brent and Mr. Simpson each carried a spade. Cindy carried her thoughts, which centered about the hard biscuits she had eaten last night. If she had one of them right now, just one, she knew she'd never ask for anything else. Her father touched her shoulder softly. "Sorry, honey." "That's all right," Cindy said stoutly. "You don't take food from babies, do you?" her father asked. "Of course not!" said Cindy. "I knew it would be like this at first," Mr. Simpson said. "I'm, I'm--" "Yes?" Cindy questioned. "I'm glad you came," her father said firmly, though Cindy had a feeling that he had been about to say he was sorry she'd come. "Maybe I can turn up something. If I can't, Alec will be here with the wagon tomorrow, and he's sure to bring some food." "I'll live," said Cindy. Choosing a knoll near the creek, Mr. Simpson sank his spade. Then he sank it again, and again, and when he had cut a good-sized sod, he laid it aside. Cindy knew what he was doing, for Pete had told her how many Oklahomans would build their first houses. They'd dig into the ground, saving all the sod they cut out. Then they'd make a cellar as wide and deep as they thought necessary. The dirt sides would be shored with sticks, stones, anything they could find, and the house would extend above ground too. The sides and roof might be all sod, but since they owned the oak grove, Pete and her father would have wood if they cared to use it. [Illustration] It was not, of course, the good house that every Oklahoman would have shortly after the homesteads began to pay in the form of crops to be grown and sold. But it would be snug and warm, and Cindy looked forward to living in such a place. She watched her father for some time, and the harder Mr. Simpson worked, the happier he seemed. He was digging in his own rich soil, and hunger was a small price to pay for such a privilege. But Cindy, growing hungrier by the minute, could think of nothing except food. She wandered away, watched Sparkle crop grass, and wished mightily that she were a horse. She'd eat until her stomach burst.