Part 10
And now the little procession has reached the ramp to the stage. Misty walks up calmly, in almost human dignity, and with only a little pushing from behind, Stormy joins her. The stage is ablaze with light so that the audience is nothing but a black blur, far away and quiet now. Misty looks around her at the big bright emptiness. It is bigger than her stall at home, bigger even than Dr. Finney's stable. Her eyes give only a passing glance to the artificial palm trees. Then they pounce on the one thing she recognizes. Her stepstool! In seeming delight she goes over and steps up with her forefeet, nickering to Stormy: "Come to me, little one."
Stormy shows a moment of panic. Her nostrils flutter in a petulant whinny. Then, light as thistledown, she skitters across the stage. And with all those faces watching, she nuzzles up to her mother and begins nursing, her little broomtail flapping in greedy excitement.
So deep a silence hangs over the theater that the sounds of her suckling go out over the loud speakers and carry up to the second balcony. In quiet ecstasy each child is hugging Stormy to himself in wonder and love.
Done with her nursing the filly turns her head, wiping her baby whiskers on Paul's pants leg. The audience bursts into joyous laughter.
The spell is broken. Misty jostles her foal and nips along her neck just in fun; then she licks her vehemently as if to make up for that long separation during the ride from Chincoteague.
* * * * *
All this while none of the human creatures on the stage had spoken a word. But suddenly Grandpa was over his stage fright. "If Misty ain't careful," he bellowed to the last row in the balcony, "she'll erase them purty patches off'n Stormy."
The children shrieked. When at last they had quieted down, Grandpa thanked them in behalf of all the people of Chincoteague, and the ponies that were left, and the new ones which their money was going to buy.
"And Stormy thanks you, too." Grandpa set her up on the stepstool alongside her mother, and they posed with their heads close together even when a flash bulb popped right in their faces.
Then Grandpa selected one boy from the audience and one girl and invited them up on the stage so that Misty could shake their hands and so thank everyone. Eagerly the two children ran up the ramp, but once on the stage they suddenly froze, their arms rigid at their sides. It was Misty who without any prompting offered her forefoot first. Then timid hands reached out, one at a time, to return the gesture. But again it was Misty who did the pumping and enjoyed the whole procedure.
Grandpa threw back his head and howled. Still chuckling he explained, "In my boy-days I was an organ-pumper on Sundays. If only I'd of had a smart pony like Misty, she could've done it fer me!"
Then a man went up the aisles with a microphone, and children asked their questions right into it.
"Was Misty really in your kitchen during the storm?"
"Was it funny to see a pony looking out your kitchen window, instead of Grandma?"
"Why are colts mostly legs?"
"How many days old is Stormy?"
"How many ponies will the firemen buy with our money?"
"Will they go wild again on Assateague?"
"Did Grandma get mad at Misty messing in the house?"
"Did Wings live through the storm?"
Grandpa patiently answered each question, with a nod and smile of agreement from Paul and Maureen. With dozens of eager hands still waving for attention, time ran out. The musicians started playing "America, the Beautiful," while Misty and Stormy went down the ramp and up the other aisle this time so that more hands could reach out and touch.
The sun seemed brighter than ever when the little procession reached the door of the theater. Paul and Maureen drew a deep breath. It had been a rousing, heart-lifting performance, and they knew they had never been so happy.
_Chapter 25_
THE LAST SCENE
It was afternoon before Misty and Stormy were loaded into the truck for the long drive home. All the way Grandpa and the children sat in quiet contentment, too full for words. They rode in silence, each one tasting his own memories of the performance, each one filled to the brim with a deep, almost spiritual happiness.
The pine trees were throwing long shadows and the sun was slipping into Chincoteague Bay when they arrived back at Pony Ranch. Grandma came hurrying out to meet them, her eyes asking a dozen questions. She waited expectantly for the news, but all she got was a "Hi, Grandma. It was great!"
Grandma buttoned her sweater against the evening breeze and sat down to watch the unloading. "No use pressin' now; else I'll only get half the story," she told herself. "Allus the ponies come first. I'll bide my time." Nanny shouldered up to her, butting very gently. Unconsciously Grandma tucked her skirt out of Nanny's reach. Then she settled herself to watch and wait.
Grandpa and the children were like actors working in pantomime. Each one knew exactly what to do. Paul lowered the tailgate of the truck and led Misty down to the fence. Grandpa picked up Stormy, carried her out and set her beside Misty. Maureen took off Stormy's halter. Then she and Paul quickly went around to the gate to let the bars down. But before even the top one was lowered, Misty did something she had done only as a yearling. From a standing start she leaped nimbly over the bars and landed inside. Then she turned around as if wondering what to do about her youngster. Stormy let out a frightened squeal, then with head and tail low, she scrambled under the bars and found her mother.
The twilit quiet ended in a crash of noise. A gaggle of geese rose in a honking cloud, the peacock let out a hair-chilling scream, Skipper yelped, the goats blatted. Even Grandpa swelled the racket. "By thunder!" he boomed. "'Twas quieter in that there movie house with a thousand kids screeching."
In the midst of all the confusion Misty let Stormy nurse, but only for a matter of seconds. After the long hours of being a sedate mother, she suddenly had to be a wild pony again. She took off down the pasture in a quick streaking run, Stormy hopping along behind.
"Look at that little tyke go!" Paul exclaimed.
Maureen cried out in sudden alarm as Misty began crow-hopping, twisting, swerving, kicking at the sky. "Stormy'll get hurt!" she screamed.
But Stormy was trying out little kicks of her own, kiting away, falling to her knees, picking herself up, yet always keeping out of reach.
"She knows just how far to stay away," Paul laughed proudly.
"Why, they're brimful of spirit after all the doin's!" Grandma exclaimed. "Wisht I felt like that."
"_I_ feel spry as a hopper-grass," Grandpa boasted.
"So do I," Maureen said.
"I don't," Paul declared. "I feel better ... and bigger ... and wilder."
"How do you mean, Paul?" Grandma asked.
He pointed a finger to the darkening sky. "See that gull 'way up yonder heading into a cloud?"
"Uh-hmm."
"Well, I can fly up there right alongside him."
Grandma took off her spectacles to study the white soaring wings tipped with the last gold of the sun. "You can?" She smiled at him in pleased wonder. "Even without wings?"
Paul nodded, embarrassed, not knowing how to explain.
There was a strained silence. At last he spoke in a hushed voice, "Grandma, today in the theater I felt and knew things I never knew before."
Grandpa put an arm around Paul and another around Maureen. "I know jes' what he means, Idy. And I don't think no one--not their teacher, nor the postmaster, and mebbe not even Preacher Britton--could really put it to words. Idy, to those city kids in Richmond, today was like a fairy story come to life. It meant something real to 'em. And you'd of thought Misty and Stormy was borned actors, the way they played their parts." He sighed in deep satisfaction. "Fer oncet everything come out jes' 'zackly perfect. And fer oncet in my lifetime I'm too happy to eat."
Misty and Stormy seemed to feel the same way. Their kicking and cavorting done, they turned tail on their friends and walked down the meadowland toward their pine grove by the sea.
It was like the end of a play, their walking off, slow-footed and contented, side by side. Without benefit of words they were playing the last scene. It was good to be out under the big sky. And good to breathe in the fresh, clean air. And how cool the marshy turf felt to their feet. Home was a good place to be.
_Epilogue_
TO MAKE THE STORY COMPLETE
Misty and little Stormy showed no ill effects, even the next day, because of their trip to the theater. They were, as Grandpa Beebe said, "borned actors." They seemed to burst into bloom like the daffodils after the storm. And so they traveled to more and more theaters. Each time they seemed eager to go, eager to meet their enraptured audiences, and deliriously happy to come back home.
At the end of the tour there was money enough to start the Volunteer Firemen buying back the ponies sold in other years.
But this is only half the story. While Misty and Stormy were doing their part, boys and girls all over the United States were helping, too. They deluged Chincoteague with a fresh tide--of letters! From big cities and tiny hamlets they came, and tucked inside were pennies, dimes, and dollars.
The letters are stories in themselves:
_Here is a check for four dollars and four cents for the Misty Disaster Fund. It is an odd number because we earned it weeding dandelions and they grow odd. We hope the money will come in handy. Please excuse our poor writing. We are doing this in my tree house._
_We had a lemonade stand and Mother didn't charge us for the lemons. We made three dollars to help restore your herds. We think the new ponies will be glad to go wild again._
_I was sad to hear of your disastrous flood because I feel like Misty and Phantom and the Pied Piper are my friends. I know that a quarter is just a drop in the bucket, but I hope that enough people send in "drops" to fill it up._
_The radio said your ponies and chickens drowned. I will send you a surprise with this letter. It is one dollar. I know that isn't much, but that's how much I can give._
_We all voted to give our class treasury of five dollars to the Misty Disaster Fund so you can buy a whole pony in the name of us fifth graders. We want Pony Penning Day to go on forever._
_I been picking blueberries all day and here's my fifty cents. Give my regards to Misty._
_During our Story Hour we set out a jar marked "For Pony Pennies," and we marched around the library until 386 pennies were dropped in._
_We are a group of 4-H girls, 10 to 16 years old. Every year we have a horse show and we do all the planning, fixing rings, making jumps, and getting prizes and ribbons. From our proceeds this year we want to give a hundred dollars to help replenish the herds that were drowned._
Day by day the Misty Disaster Fund grew and grew. By June the firemen had bought back enough ponies to restore the herds on Assateague. And on the last Wednesday of July the annual roundup and Pony Penning took place just as it has for over a hundred years. Thousands of visitors came, and they marveled at how quickly the new ponies had gone back to their wild ways. The celebration was a rousing success.
Of course Stormy and Misty were on hand where everyone could see and pet them. _They_ were not wild at all. Yet they were the heroes of the day.
_For their help the author is grateful to_
RALPH AND JEANETTE BEEBE, uncle and aunt of Paul and Maureen
SAM BENDHEIM, SR., AND SAM BENDHEIM, JR., President and Vice President of the Byrd Theaters, Richmond, Va.
THE REVEREND RAYMOND BRITTON, Chincoteague
WARREN CONANT, Postmaster of Chincoteague, and his wife, PAULINE
MIRES HANCOCK, terrapin trapper and wood-carver, Chincoteague
LT. WILLIAM LIPHAM, U.S. Coast Guard
WILLIAM E. NICHOLS, JR., Councilman of Chincoteague
ROSERT N. REED, Mayor of Chincoteague
TOM REED, naturalist, Chincoteague
JOYCE TARR, map maker, Chincoteague
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