"But I have one I can trust," she replied, pressing his hand.
He shook his head, closing his eyes.
"You can't stand up against the wind and sleet. It's awful. You can't walk a block. Don't try it."
She watched his mouth twitch with pain.
"I will try it," she answered, firmly. "Lucy will watch with you till I get back."
When Ruth called and told her, the little hands clasped, a cry burst from her heart, and she kissed her mother impulsively.
While his daughter sat by the bedside gently stroking his big blue-veined hand, Gordon dozed in sleep and Ruth crept out into the wild night on her mission of love.
She was half an hour going and coming four blocks. Three times the wind threw her on the freezing pavements. When she climbed up her own steps her clothing was shrouded in an inch of snow and ice, her cheeks were red and swollen, and her hands were bleeding, but a smile played about her lips. The doctor was coming.
He assured her that the wounds were not fatal, and left instructions for dressing them. A few days of rest and all danger would be past.
Through the night, while the wind howled and moaned and roared, the mother and daughter sat by the bedside and smiled into each other's faces.
The meaning of the tragedy had not yet dawned
