"Yes, Grandma."
"And since you still got work on Misty's stall, you don't need to hang my rug outside today. I got all the windows open and there's a good breeze blowing in."
"Thank you, Grandma."
"Now, you two perten up. Everything's going to be better this afternoon. Life's like a teeter-totter. Heartbreak, happiness. Happiness, heartbreak. You'll see. Everything'll be better this afternoon."
Grandma was right. By the time the wet sawdust was shoveled out, Mr. Hancock was back again with a small tow wagon hooked onto his car.
"Got a big surprise fer ye," he chuckled. "The road people was putting down some ground-up oyster shells, and I got 'em to fill my wagon plumb full. With them shells first, and the shavings atop that, ye'll have the driest stable this side o' Doc Finney's."
The rest of the afternoon flew by in a fury of work. Paul dumped the oyster shells onto the floor. Maureen raked them even. Then came layer on layer of chips and shavings. For a final touch they took a bale of straw and cut it up, a sheaf at a time, into short wisps.
"Why can't we just shake it airy?" Maureen asked. "My fingers ache. Why do I have to cut it?"
"Do you want his pipestem legs getting all tangled up and throwin' him down?"
"'Course not. When you tell me why, I don't mind doing it. But, Paul, how do you know it's going to be a 'he'?"