"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.
