After he had poked and felt of Misty, Grandpa threw up his hands in
despair. "Could be a week yet."
Paul groaned, wondering if maybe the foal was dead inside her and that
was why it wouldn't come out, wondering if she was really going to have
a colt at all.
"Yup," Grandpa said, "mebbe she's goin' to wait till her stall dries
out. She's still got plenty hay, so you feed the cat, whilst I take a
quick gander about the house."
As Grandpa hurried down the hall, Paul searched the refrigerator. He
took out the pitcher of milk and smelled it. "Phew-eee!" he said to
himself. "She'll just have to be satisfied with the left-over beans."
Grandpa soon came back, rubbing his hands. "Water seeped into only
one bedroom," he announced. "But the rooms is colder'n a tomb, and
they stink like old fish. Beats all how nice it is here. Somethin'
companionable in the smell of a hoss."
Misty, as if in appreciation, offered to shake hands.
"Sorry, gal. No time for tricks 'n treats today. Now then, Paul, come
along. We can't keep the DUKW man waiting forever, and I got to see
'bout my herd up to Deep Hole."
Tom Reed was getting into his boat when the DUKW reached his place on
the north end of the island. "Figured ye'd come along about now," he
called. "Get out of that new-fangled contraption, Beebe, and climb
aboard my old scow."
"How come she didn't get blowed away, same as mine?" Grandpa asked
as he and Paul waded over. "And how come you and the missus didn't
evacuate?"
"I tied her up to the rafters of my barn, that's why."