white-men companies. The Osage have big holdings. They are reservation Indians, mostly—perhaps they can not help that. I must go to the plowing."
He gathered up his harness and went off to the field, and Bob and Betty resumed their explorations, talking about him with interest. Their tour of the shabby outbuildings was soon completed, and just in time for a huge bell rung vigorously announced that dinner was on the table.
That afternoon they found Grandma Watterby braiding rugs under the one large tree in the side yard, and she welcomed them warmly.
"I was just wishing for some one to talk to," she said cheerfully. "Can't you sit a while? There isn't much for young 'uns to do, and I says to your uncle It was a good thing there was two of you—at least you can talk."
"What lovely rugs!" exclaimed Betty, examining the old woman's work. "See, Bob, they're braided, just like the colonial rag rugs you see in pictures. Can't I do some?"
"Sure you can braid," said the old woman. "It's easy. I'll show you, and then I'll sew some while you braid."
"Let me braid, too,'* urged Bob. "My fingers aren't all thumbs, if I am a boy."
"Well now," fluttered Grandma Watterby, pleased as could be, "I don't know when I've had
