[Chapter 13]
UP AT DEEP HOLE
After he had poked and felt of Misty, Grandpa threw up his hands in despair. "Could be a week yet."
Paul groaned, wondering if maybe the foal was dead inside her and that was why it wouldn't come out, wondering if she was really going to have a colt at all.
"Yup," Grandpa said, "mebbe she's goin' to wait till her stall dries out. She's still got plenty hay, so you feed the cat, whilst I take a quick gander about the house."
As Grandpa hurried down the hall, Paul searched the refrigerator. He took out the pitcher of milk and smelled it. "Phew-eee!" he said to himself. "She'll just have to be satisfied with the left-over beans."
Grandpa soon came back, rubbing his hands. "Water seeped into only one bedroom," he announced. "But the rooms is colder'n a tomb, and they stink like old fish. Beats all how nice it is here. Somethin' companionable in the smell of a hoss."