The Street of the City Read Free Page A

as she used to be when her own boys were at home and had the house full of friends all the time.
    How the years raced by her in panorama as she anxiously watched the icy pathway of the river! Oh, if only she hadn’t sent Hannah and Joseph off this particular morning! They could have gone later just as well. What could that skater-boy do anyway for a desperately sick woman, even if he did know enough to bring her back to consciousness?
    She wished she could see the little brick house more clearly. The big elm tree in her back yard almost hid its front door. Was that somebody coming out now? Probably if she went out on the kitchen porch the view would be clearer. But no, she mustn’t; the wind was very sharp. She shivered now at the thought of facing it again as when she had called the young man. She mustn’t risk getting bronchitis again. No, she couldn’t go outside without dressing very warmly, and that would take a lot of time. Likely she would fail to see the young man if he came back. But that surely was a car parked by the side of the little brick cottage. Probably the doctor had arrived. And, ah—there was the young man, coming cautiously down the snow toward the river, just as he had walked up her lawn. And now he was dashing out on the ice and skimming along. Probably she had made him late to something, asking him to help. He might be a worker in one of those munitions places and would be late arriving, maybe be docked in his pay or even lose his job. But what else could she have done? She had to call someone, and he was the only one in sight. And he was a gentleman, she was sure of that. He had it written all over him, even in a leather windbreaker. He would never let her know she had inconvenienced him.
    If he was late he wouldn’t likely stop to speak to her now, though he had said he would be back. But perhaps the doctor had understood and promised to stop and let her know.
    Then she saw him coming, and suddenly he whirled to face her house and came dashing up, stepping in his same footprints as if they were stairs.
    She opened the door and stepped out anxiously, but he called, “Don’t come out, Lady Winthrop. The cold is something fierce. I’ll come in. The doctor sent you a message.”
    She stepped back into the house, and he was beside her almost at once, taking care, she noted, to keep his skate-shod feet on a rough mat at the door.
    “She’s a pretty sick woman,” he said as he closed the door behind him. “It took me some time to bring her to, but the little kid brought some water and told me where to find aromatic ammonia and a few drops of that revived her. I got her on the bed and covered her warmly, rubbed her hands and feet. They were like ice. We put a hot blanket around them. They had a good, warm radiator in the room. That helped to heat the blanket. But we couldn’t find a hot water bag. The doctor said, did you have one or two you could lend him and a couple more blankets? Their goods haven’t all come yet. And the doctor asked if you would please telephone his office boy and ask him to bring over his other medicine bag and get hold of Nurse Branner and bring her right over to the house?”
    “Why surely. There’s the telephone; suppose you call the office and talk with the boy while I get the blankets and things. The number is by the phone.”
    As she hurried away she heard the young man’s efficient voice giving directions to the doctor’s office boy and rejoiced that she had so able a helper. This young man was going to stand right by as long as he was needed. Then she heard him coming down the hall after her, walking very carefully, not to damage her floor.
    “Can’t I help you?” he asked, and he stepped gingerly up and took the blankets from her, then reached for the two hot water bags that were set so neatly together on a high shelf in the bathroom.
    “Thank you,” said the old lady. “And now suppose we fill these bags from the teakettle in the kitchen. I happen to