"You just hand that little tyke acrost to me," she smiled, "and wipe yer eyes. You kin busy yerself foldin' the few diapers you got left."
Willingly Mrs. Whealton passed the baby across the aisle and into experienced hands. The crying stopped at once.
The northeast wind shook the helicopter, but it obeyed the pilot's stick. "We take no back talk from the elements," Mr. Birch said to reassure his passengers.
The plane was heading into the wind, flying low over the channel and over the long rib of sand that was Assateague. Everyone scanned the hills and woods for wild ponies.
"I see a bunch!" Paul cried.
"I knowed it! I knowed it!" Grandpa exulted. "They're atop the White Hills."
The pilot tried to hold the plane steady, but the gale buffeted it mercilessly. Twice he circled the herd, then climbed and headed due west. The island of Assateague seemed to be sailing backward, and now they were over Chincoteague again.
"Mr. Birch!" Maureen shouted. "Look at the people on that raft. They're waving a white flag."
