"Here's one from a fifth-grader up to Glassboro, New Jersey:
"_I am a boy ten and a half years old. This is not a very long
letter, but I like the name 'Windy' for Misty's colt._"
Mr. Conant made a second checkmark after _Windy_. "Two for _Windy_," he
announced.
"Doggone, if this ain't jes' like an election," Grandpa said. "Vote
countin' and all."
Grandma broke out in smiles. "This one's mostly questions:
"_Dear Paul and Maureen,_
"_How are you? I am fine. I read in the paper that Misty is safe._
"_How do you pronounce your island's name?_
"_If I should come to your island, would you show me how to eat
oysters?_
"_How are your Grandpa and Grandma? I think you are one of the
greatest families in the U.S.A._
"_P.S. Do you think you'll have a Pony Penning this year?_"
"See?" Maureen said. "Folks are asking already, but I just won't answer
this one until later. Go on, Grandma."
"Here's one from a lady teacher:
"_We read in the paper that Misty had a filly and also that 145
ponies died. My heart just sinks._
"_One of my pupils said that colts have such twinkly legs he
thought 'Sand Piper' would be a good name for Misty's baby._"
"Hmmm," Paul said approvingly. "See what I mean, Maureen? _Sand Piper_
would honor her granddaddy, the Pied Piper."
Mr. Conant wrote down the name with one checkmark and a star beside it.
"If she was a horse-colt instead of a mare-colt," Maureen said, "I'd
like it fine. But we got to think about when she's grown up."
Mr. Conant erased the star.
Grandma pursed her lips as she read the next letter to herself.
"Land sakes, Idy, I'll be a bushy-whiskered old man by the time ye make
that one out."
"Oh, it's easy to make out," she replied. "The writing's beautiful.
It's to you, Clarence." She held it up for all to see. Then she cleared
her throat:
"_Dear Sir:_
"_I cut a picture from the state paper yesterday of Misty's filly,
born Sunday, March 11th. The caption said she was foaled at an
animal hospital, but I am hoping that someone in your town can give
me more information about her. Is she healthy? And is she for
sale?_"
There was a stunned silence. Grandpa's face went red and the cords of
his neck bulged.
Mr. Conant looked at him in alarm. "Mr. Beebe," he said, "I know the
answer to that one. If you'll allow me, I'd like to do the replying."
Grandpa didn't trust himself to speak. He managed a nod of thanks.
"Grandma, try another!" Maureen urged.
"Here's a real short one," Grandma said cheerily, "and it says:
"_If I owned Misty, I would name her colt 'Stormy.'_"
Paul's eyes met Maureen's and held. Then he leaped up from his chair,
stood on his head, and cried, "Yahoo!" In an instant he was right side
up again. He shouted the name, "STORMY!" Then he whispered it very
softly, "_Stormy_."