Skipper nosed in between them, nudging first one and then the other, wanting to be part of the kinship.
"You can stay in here tonight, feller," Paul said. "You'll keep each other warm." Reluctantly he left them and headed toward the house. The wind and rain were at his back now, pushing him along as if he were in the way.
The kitchen felt cozy and warm by contrast, and the acrid smell of the coal oil seemed pleasant. The light, though feeble, didn't hide the worry on Grandma's and Grandpa's faces. But Maureen was humming and happy, her head bent over small squares of paper. Wait-a-Minute was perched on her shoulder, purring noisily.
Paul picked up the cat, warming his fingers in her fur. "What you doing, Maureen?" he asked.
She folded one of the squares and held it up in triumph. "Isn't it exciting, Paul?"
"What's it supposed to be?"
"Why, a birth announcement, of course."
"Gee willikers! Horsemen don't send out announcements!"
"I know that. But Misty's different. Everybody's heard how she came from the wild ones on Assateague and chose to live with us 'stead of her own kin."
Paul held the folder close to the light. He studied it curiously and in surprise. On the top sheet were three sketches of horses' heads. The one on the left was unmistakably Misty, and the one on the right could have been any horse-creature except that it was carefully labeled "Wings." Between the two, in a small oval, there was a whiskery colt's face and underneath it a dash where the name could be printed in later.