All this while none of the human creatures on the stage had spoken a word. But suddenly Grandpa was over his stage fright. "If Misty ain't careful," he bellowed to the last row in the balcony, "she'll erase them purty patches off'n Stormy."
The children shrieked. When at last they had quieted down, Grandpa thanked them in behalf of all the people of Chincoteague, and the ponies that were left, and the new ones which their money was going to buy.
"And Stormy thanks you, too." Grandpa set her up on the stepstool alongside her mother, and they posed with their heads close together even when a flash bulb popped right in their faces.
Then Grandpa selected one boy from the audience and one girl and invited them up on the stage so that Misty could shake their hands and so thank everyone. Eagerly the two children ran up the ramp, but once on the stage they suddenly froze, their arms rigid at their sides. It was Misty who without any prompting offered her forefoot first. Then timid hands reached out, one at a time, to return the gesture. But again it was Misty who did the pumping and enjoyed the whole procedure.
Grandpa threw back his head and howled. Still chuckling he explained, "In my boy-days I was an organ-pumper on Sundays. If only I'd of had a smart pony like Misty, she could've done it fer me!"
Then a man went up the aisles with a microphone, and children asked their questions right into it.
"Was Misty really in your kitchen during the storm?"
"Was it funny to see a pony looking out your kitchen window, instead of Grandma?"
"Why are colts mostly legs?"