Paul's voice was now at the breaking point. And Grandpa knew the questions without actually hearing the words. But he had no answer. He, too, was worried about Misty. He put one arm around Paul and another around Maureen, drawing them away from the window, pulling them down beside him on the lumpy couch.
"There, there, children, hold on," he soothed. "Buckle on your blinders and let's think of Fun Days. I'll think first. I'm a-thinkin'...."
In the dark room it was almost like being in a theater, waiting for the play to begin. And now Grandpa was drawing the curtain aside.
"I'm a-thinkin'," he began again, "back on Armed Forces Day, and I'm a-ridin' little Misty in the big parade 'cause you two both got the chickenpox. Recomember?"
"Yes," they agreed politely. And for Grandpa's sake, Paul added, "Tell us about it."
"Why, I can hear the high-school band a-tootlin' and a-blastin' as plain as if 'twas yesterday. And all of 'em in blue uniforms with Chincoteague ponies 'broidered in gold on their sleeves. And now comes the Coast Guard, carryin' flags on long poles, marchin' to the music, and right behind 'em comes me and the firemen a-ridin'."
Now the children were caught up in the drama, reliving the familiar story.
"Misty, she weren't paradin' like the big hosses the firemen rode. She come a-skylarkin' along, and ever'where a little rife of applause as she goes by. But all to once she seen a snake—'twas one of them hog-nose vipers—and 'twas right plumb in the middle of the street, and she r'ared up and come down on it and kilt it whilst all the cars in the rear was a-honkin' 'cause she's holdin' up the parade."
