"I know!" Grandpa burst forth in annoyance. "But what about...."
"He puts more coal on and he asks me to help, and tide wasn't too far in then. But when we'd done coaling, he goes on back to his house. And an hour or so later he calls me up all outa breath. 'Tide's risin' fast,' he says. 'Storm's worsening. I can't get back up there. Will you coal the stoves for me?' So I goes out...."
Grandpa stiffened. "What'd ye find, Tom? Any o' my ponies?"
"All drowned."
A cry broke from the old man: "All ninety head?"
"They was all drowned, two thousand little baby chicks. They was sitting on their stoves like they was asleep. The water just come right up under 'em. I guess two-three gasps, and they was all dead."
"Oh." Grandpa held tight to his patience. He was sorry about the chickens, but he had to know about his ponies. He cleared his throat and leaned forward. "Tom!" he shouted. "What about my ponies?"
There was a long pause. Then the voice at the other end stammered, "I don't know, Clarence, but no cause to worry—yet. Stallions got weather sense. They'll just drive their mares up on little humpy places."
Grandpa wasn't breathing. His face turned dull red.
"They must of sensed this storm," the voice went on. "Tonight after I watered 'em, they just wanted to stay close to the house. But I drove 'em out to the low pasture like always. I'll go out later with my flashbeam. You call me back, Clarence."