"I see it," Mr. Birch answered, "but it's a housetop, not a raft, and they're waving a bedsheet. They don't know we got a full load."
From the cockpit the pilot called back, "We'll get 'em on the next trip. No, we won't!" he contradicted. "I see another chopper heading this way. They'll beat us to it."
Mr. Hooper, a quiet little man, said his first words of the trip. "Sky's so full o' whirlybirds we're goin' to need a traffic cop up here."
In spite of all the tragedy, the passengers couldn't help smiling at Mr. Hooper's joke.
"Yup," Grandpa agreed. "I can eenamost see a policeman mounted on a cloud like a parson in a pulpit."
But the make-believe fun didn't last. Now they were over the big bay of water, and now they could see the wavy shore of the mainland. Slowly the helicopter came down from the sky onto a landing field at Wallops Station. A thin fog was closing in and the night lights were already on as the Beebes and Hoopers and Twilleys and Mrs. Whealton tumbled out of the plane like seeds from a pod. A gust of wind swept them into a little huddle.
Suddenly the adventure and excitement were over. Standing there in the rain, Paul felt what he was, a refugee, homeless and cold and hungry. And half his mind was far away in a hay-strewn kitchen.
