her after it until she broke away to draw herself up into a cramping knot on the sofa at the foot of the bed, trying to warm herself, too cold really to sleep, too tired really to stay awake, while the sofa seemed to rock under her like a ship at sea.
A day came when Joe was much worse. His fever jumped up; you could hear his loud gasping breathing all over the house. Kate was so frightened that she ran across the street through the deep snow to telephone Doctor Wells, without noticing that she had nothing on her feet but her satin slippers, those old friends, white once, that she had painted black with scarlet heels, and that she couldn't imagine life without, though already the toes had gone all fuzzy. She hadn't been out of doors for days and days. The cold misty air blessed her aching eyelids. There had been sleet in the night, and the trees in the mist were white against gray, streaming up and losing themselves.
Doctor Wells came four times that day. When he went home just before midnight Kate felt the earth crumbling under her feet. Lizzie, with red rims around her eyes, came to the bedroom door with hot soup, and Kate tried to feed Joe, but he couldn't swallow; it dribbled out again. His beseeching eyes seemed to pull the heart out of her body. She stretched her mouth into a wide encouraging smile. "You'll be better to-morrow morning, Joey; you see if you aren't."
She thought perhaps if she read to him he would go to sleep. She got the book about Italy that they had
