Grandpa's arms seemed big enough to take in his whole family. "Don't listen at the man. Ponies got sense. They'll hie theirselves to little hummocky places and wait it out. And Misty, of course, is dry and comfortable."
The officer let the mumblings and grumblings die down. He rapped again for silence. "The Mayor of Chincoteague has asked for volunteers—only able-bodied men—to fly back each day to clean up the island and repair the causeway. Only able-bodied men," he repeated, scrutinizing the group. "Will all who wish to volunteer come to the front of the room."
Grandpa leaped forward as if he'd been shot from a cannon. Paul was a quick shadow behind him.
"Paul Beebe!" Grandma called out. "You come back!"
But Paul seemed not to hear. He locked step with Grandpa and they were almost the first to reach the officer.
Grandma sighed. "Who can stop a Beebe? We can be proud of our menfolk, can't we, Maureen?"
Maureen burst into tears. "Oh, Grandma, being a girl is horrible. Paul always gets to have the most excitement. And he'll be first to see Misty's baby. Oh, oh...." And she buried her head in Grandma's bosom and sobbed.
"There, there, honey. We'll find something real interesting for you to do. You'll see."
A handful of lean, weathered fishermen were now lining up as volunteers. The officer began counting from the tail of the line. As he came to Paul, he stopped, trying to make up his mind if he were man or boy. For the moment he left Paul out and went on with his counting, "... eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen." At fourteen he paused.
"But, sir!" Paul heard his own voice sounding tight and urgent. "The 'copter holds fifteen, and Grandpa needs me. Don't you, Grandpa?"