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Misty books marguerite henry
Misty books marguerite henry













Grandma’s sputtering bothered them no more than a mosquito before the fuzz comes off its stinger.Ī faint light had begun to melt the darkness and there was a brim of dawn on the sea. “Our place is a reg’lar mecca for folks comin’ to see her, and when she has her colt-land o’ mercy!-they’ll be thicker’n oysters in a pie.” “And I’ll never hear the end of it!” Grandma grumbled. You know we sell more ponies because of her, and we can buy better fodder, and this summer I’m going to build her a fine stable and. And her being famous-well, it’s made a heap o’ difference to Pony Ranch.” “Name me another Chincoteague pony who’s a star of a movin’ picture like Misty is. “This household,” Grandma sputtered, “does more worritin’ over Misty having a colt than if she was a queen birthin’ a crown prince.” “Who wouldn’t look tuckered out?” Grandpa asked in pride. I declare, ye look older and tireder than yer grandpa.”

misty books marguerite henry

“I got to brew some sassafras roots to perten ye up. Wind’s bitter.” She came to the doorway and looked sharply at Paul. The old man and the boy went thudding in their sock feet to the back hall, to their jackets hanging over the wash tubs and their boots standing side by side. “Me neither,” Paul said, “even when it’s cloudy.” “What’s more, ye never have to wind him up, and I never knowed him to sleep overtime.”

misty books marguerite henry

Why, he’s even more to depend on than that fancy ticker yer sea-farin’ father brung us from France.” He gave Grandma a playful wink. “That banty,” he went on as he mopped his face, “is better than any li’l ole tinkly alarm clock. He reached for the towel Grandma was handing him. “Just hark at that head rooster!” he grinned, his face dripping.

misty books marguerite henry

He came up for air, his head cocked like a robin listening for worms. Grandpa Beebe was bent over the sink, noisily washing his face. For Paul, his banty rooster was clock enough. Paul did not even glance at the clock, though it was a handsome piece, showing the bridge of a ship with a captain at the wheel. THE CLOCK on the shelf pointed to five as young Paul Beebe, his hair tousled and his eyes still full of sleep, came into the kitchen.















Misty books marguerite henry