of safety valve.

As winter came on she used to sit up before her grate fire long, long
after we were asleep in our beds. When she neglected to pull down the
shades we could see the flames of her cosy fire dancing gnomelike on
the wall. There came a night of sleet and snow, and wind and rattling
hail--one of those blustering, wild nights that are followed by
morning-paper reports of trains stalled in drifts, mail delayed,
telephone and telegraph wires down. It must have been midnight or past
when there came a hammering at Blanche Devine's door--a persistent,
clamorous rapping. Blanche Devine, sitting before her dying fire half
asleep, started and cringed when she heard it, then jumped to her feet,
her hand at her breast--her eyes darting this way and that, as though
seeking escape.

She had heard a rapping like that before. It had meant bluecoats
swarming up the stairway, and frightened cries and pleadings, and wild
confusion. So she started forward now, quivering. And then she
remembered, being wholly awake now--she remembered, and threw up her
head and smiled a little bitterly and walked toward the door. The
hammering continued, louder than ever. Blanche Devine flicked on the
porch light and opened the door. The half-clad figure of the Very
Young Wife next door staggered into the room. She seized Blanche
Devine's arm with both her frenzied hands and shook her, the wind and
snow beating in upon both of them.

"The baby!" she screamed in a high, hysterical voice. "The baby! The
baby----!"

Blanche Devine shut the door and shook the Young Wife smartly by the
shoulders.

"Stop screaming," she said quietly. "Is she sick?"

The Young Wife told her, her teeth chattering:

"Come quick! She's dying! Will's out of town. I tried to get the
doctor. The telephone wouldn't---- I saw your light! For God's
sake----"

Blanche Devine grasped the Young Wife's arm, opened the door, and
together they sped across the little space that separated the two
houses. Blanche Devine was a big woman, but she took the stairs like a
girl and found the right bedroom by some miraculous woman instinct. A
dreadful choking, rattling sound was coming from Snooky's bed.

"Croup," said Blanche Devine, and began her fight.

It was a good fight. She marshaled her inadequate forces, made up of
the half-fainting Young Wife and the terrified and awkward hired girl.

"Get the hot water on--lots of it!" Blanche Devine pinned up her