My children, when the new rug is taken from the loom, I will go to Mother Earth"" -- so says the Old One, who is wise. Annie misbehaves at school, hoping they will summon her parents; the weaving would stop for a day. She looses a sheep hoping it will have to be searched for, then maybe the weaving would stop for a day. Her plans foiled, her hopes dashed, Annie steals out at night and undoes half the weaving -- but the Old One says: ""My granddaughter, you have tried to hold back time. This cannot be done. . . ""; she invokes the natural cycle of natural things ""And Annie was breathless with the wonder of it."" Unready before, now bolstered by the gilt of the Old One's weaving stick, Annie says ""I am ready to weave""; with her step over that Navajo threshold the book closes, but the story goes on, like last year's Hoagie's Rifle Gun. It's the same kind of mellow and it fixes on the same kind of mood without brooding and without belaboring the moment; not static -- but not dynamic, really, either, it's distilled so much that the picture format might be the only possible one. As it happens, it's also an apt one -- the scenes are rightly gently firm and expansive -- in terms of all but the self-reading audience. Still, for whomever, affecting.