"Do we!" And now other cars were stopping and out popped dozens of children and dozens of cameras. Traffic stalled while shutters clicked on all sides.
After a few moments Misty began stomping and whinnying. There was a curious urging in her mind, a tremendous pull for home.
"Let's go," Paul said. "Misty's getting nervous."
Grandpa stopped the picture-taking and drove on. And at long last they were going down Beebe Road into Pony Ranch. Once the tailgate was lowered Misty slow-footed down the ramp like a queen returning to her kingdom. Skipper, the official greeter, welcomed her in ten-foot bounds, jumping, rolling, yelping in pure joy. And out on the marsh, Wings added his voice in a great cry of triumph.
Grandma rushed out of the house, calling, "Where's Misty's baby? Where?"
For answer Paul and Grandpa lifted her out of the truck and carefully set her down beside her mother. She tried a little caper, lost her balance and fell in a heap. Bravely she scrabbled up again, then staggered to her mother and began drinking thirstily. Satisfied, she blew bubbles, sending little beads of milk running down her whiskers.
Misty whickered in contentment. "Home at last," she seemed to say. And she gave the little rump at her side a nip, ever so gentle and motherly.