Bong! Bong! ... The clock struck the hour of ten, and with the last bong the telephone rang shrilly. Grandpa clapped a hand to his forehead, then grabbed for his shoes. "Great balls o' fire! I plumb forgot to pick up yer Grandma from the meetin' house. You answer, Maureen. I'm gone!"
[Chapter 22]
THE NAMING BEE
Over the weekend the schoolhouse had been dried out, and on Monday it re-opened with only the high-tide mark showing. Paul and Maureen were present and on time. But it was a hard thing to remember the provinces of Canada, or to stand up and recite: "Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe ..." when Misty's filly had to be named. The Town Council was insistent. They had to have a name at once. And the more Paul and Maureen were pressed to make a decision, the harder it was to decide.
For the next few days, in school and out, they thought up names and just as quickly discarded them. None seemed right. Either they were too long, or when you called them out across the marsh they sounded puny. It wasn't like naming just any colt.
