Grandma nodded. "To my notion, she's a body with a purpose. She's tryin' to find a hidey-hole. Wonder what's frighted her?"
They all watched as the hen made her way to the high ground near the smokehouse and settled down on the doorstep as though she'd found a safe harbor.
Everybody went back to work except Grandpa. He crossed the room to the window that faced the channel. "Great guns!" he exclaimed. "Look at how our lone pine tree is bent! Why, the wind's switched clean around from sou'west to nor'east! And look at the sky—it's black as the inside of a cow." Suddenly he sucked in his breath. "The tide," he gasped, "it's almost up to our field!"
"Only nacherel," Grandma called from the kitchen. "We're in the time of the new moon, and a new moon allus means a fuller tide."
But Grandpa wasn't listening. He began pacing from one room to the other. "Any storm warnings on the radio today, Idy?" he asked.
"No," Grandma said thoughtfully, "except the Coast Guard gave out small-craft warnings this morning. But three outen five days in March, they hoist that red flag."
"Even so," Grandpa said, "me and Paul better light out and put the ponies in the hay house for safety."
Paul dropped his paintbrush and started for the door.
"Bring in more wood for the stove," Grandma called after them.
Darkness was coming on quickly and the wind had sharpened, bringing with it a fine whipping rain. The old man and the boy whistled the ponies in from the marsh. They came at a gallop, eager to get out of the weather. It wasn't often they were given all the hay they could eat, and warm shelter too.