"Nor have I. Nor yer Grandpa neither." She looked far out on the marsh, at the ponies grazing peacefully. "Well, the way the mares do it," she said at last, "is to go off a day, mebbe more, and hide in some lonely spot. And the next time you see her come to the watering trough, there's a frisky youngster dancing alongside. Why, one mare swum clean across the channel to Hummocky Isle to have her baby, and three days later they both come back and joined the herd—even that little baby swum."
"But they're wild, Grandma," Paul said. "Misty's different. She's lived with people since she was a tiny foal."
Grandma took an old cork and a can of powder and began scouring the stains on her carving knives. She nodded slowly. "And Misty's smart. If she needs help, she'll come up here to the fence and let us know right smart quick, same's she does when she's thirsty. Now you both wash up and change yer clothes. You touched off the wrong fuse when you quoted Bible verses to get excused from school."
"But, Grandma," Paul persisted, "how can Misty tell anyone she needs help when Grandpa's in town shucking oysters, and we're trapped in school and...."
Grandma didn't answer; yet somehow she interrupted. She handed Maureen a pitcher of milk and a saucedish. As if by magic Wait-a-Minute, a big tiger-striped cat, appeared from under the stove and began lapping the milk even before Maureen finished pouring it.
"Tell you what," Grandma said after a moment's thought. "I promise to go out every hour and look in on Misty."
"You will?"
"That I will."
"And will you telephone school in case she needs us?"
"I'll even promise you that. Cross my heart!"