Dr. Finney was a big man, outwardly calm, but his face looked as if it
knew patience and pain.
"What do you think, sir?" Paul asked as they stood with Misty in the
paddock.
"Well, to be frank, she's a little too heavy, Paul. That is, for one so
fine-boned. And that's never good at a time like this. But we'll pull
her through."
Misty shouldered her way into the center of the group, ears listening
and questing, as if she were part of the conference instead of the
cause.
The doctor put a gentle hand on Paul's shoulder. "Misty won't be
lonesome here," he said. "In the next stall she can neighbor with
Trineda, a well-bred trotter. And my boy David can comfort her and
take your place--for the time being," he added quickly.
Just then Dr. Finney's son came racing out of the house. Paul almost
hated the boy on sight, for Misty trotted right up to him, sniffing
curiously.
"Doctor Finney," Paul said urgently, "couldn't I stay here? Please?"
Grandpa answered before the doctor had finished clearing his throat.
"If ye could be of help, me and Doc'd both say yes. But ye're needed
over to Chincoteague. Lots o' moppin' up to be done, and ye volunteered
as an able-bodied _man_. Recomember?"
Still Paul could not bring himself to go. He slid his hand under
Misty's mane, scruffing his fingers along. "Doctor Finney," he asked,
"would it be a good idea for us to get a nanny goat just in case...?"
The doctor was about to say it wouldn't be necessary. Then he saw the
troubled look on the boy's face. Better, he thought, to keep him busy
instead of worrying. "It wouldn't hurt at all, Paul. Many breeding
stables keep a goat for that very purpose. By the way," he turned now
to Grandpa, "you must know Buck Jackson from Chincoteague."