The day Father put in the window, Grandmother moved her basket weaving to the dancehouse, the last traditional building of the village. "I don't feel in harmony with Mother Earth in this white man's house with its window," she said.

Wonoma went often to visit Grandmother at the dancehouse, but she did not even know how to begin the tightly woven baskets Grandmother so lovingly created.
 

One day as Wonoma watched Grandmother's skillful hands, she said, "Mrs. Bidwell has Maidu baskets in the great house."

Grandmother coughed into the kerchief which was always kept nearby for that purpose. Her eyes met Wonoma's, and anger burned in the black depths. "Why would a white woman want Maidu baskets?"

"Mrs. Bidwell loves our people, and she is trying to help us."

Grandmother was silent, and Wonoma wished for words to make her happier.