At the gate Grandpa made his decision. "Ride down to the smokehouse, Paul," he said. "Pick us out a big ham. If we got to go, we ain't showin' up over on the main empty handed. I'll dry off Billy Blaze and see about Misty."
Skipper swam out to meet Paul, then paddled alongside all the way to the smokehouse. Round as a silo and perched on the highest spot of the ranch, the smokehouse was a landmark for ships in the channel. Inside, it was a friendly place, with its exciting smells, sweet and smoky. In the little while it took Paul to select the biggest ham and to cut a piece of rind for Skipper, the rain turned to icy sleet.
Grandpa was throwing an old red blanket over Misty when Paul looked in. "Grandpa!" he cried. "Misty's standing in water!"
"So'm I!"
"But you're not going to have a colt!"
"Wisht I was. Then maybe I'd get a bit o' coddlin'."
"But, Grandpa! What are we going to do with her?"