At last Misty grew bored and ambled across the porch, through the back hall, and right into the kitchen. When they were all crowded inside, Grandpa took off his hat in a sweeping bow. "Meet Idy, my wife," he said.
Grandma winced. "We met before," she said drily. Then her heart melted. "Take off yer purty red shawl, Misty," she said, entering into the game, "and make yerself to home." She went to the refrigerator while Misty followed after, snatching a streamer of her apron.
Grandma jumped in fright, almost stumbling over her apron on the floor. "Why, that ungrateful rascal! I've a good notion to put these carrots back in the box." But she didn't. She held them out and let Misty lip them. "Feels tickly, her lips and whiskers, don't they?"
Paul and Maureen exchanged glances.
Grandma stiffened. "You're all dripping pools of water on my clean floor." She sighed. "But no matter now, I guess. How soon will the heelyacopter come for us?" she asked.
"Right soon," Grandpa replied. "Come on, son, we better hurry and haul in plenty of straw for Misty."
After they had made a deep rustly bed for her in the kitchen, there was nothing left to do. Four blankets and the ham were ready and waiting, and Misty was already at home, contentedly munching wisps of hay while Maureen combed her mane.
As the minutes dragged on, Grandma grew pale and fidgety. She busied herself pouring an extra bowl of milk for Wait-a-Minute. Then she began watering her sweet potato vine and her fern.
"That's my girl," Grandpa came over and patted her shoulder. "That's my girl." Then he broke into a sudden howl as he caught her wetting down a plant of artificial violets.