THE BLOW FALLS Sarah never forgot the wet, cold walk across the fields. The stars were out, and there was promise of a clear day, but the melted snow made the soil wet and muddy, and the air was damp. Uncle Daniel strode on, without remembering to moderate his long steps, and Sarah almost ran by his side. She was wide awake now, the cool air on her face banished all drowsiness of body, and Albert's danger roused every faculty of her mind. "How long was he sick already?" she asked. "Since this morning. But he has been for a couple of days not so good." "Where is he sick?" "He won't eat nothing, and--and he don't know us. He--he--" Uncle Daniel's voice shook. He had had a hard day. He was desperately frightened about Albert, and Aunt 'Liza had not made him more comfortable by insisting that it was a punishment for wanting his sister's farm. "He will know me," answered Sarah with conviction. Then she began to run up the lane toward the house. She could see a light in an upstairs room, and Aunt Eliza's face was already peering anxiously out of the kitchen door. "Albert is worse," she called. "He is talking all the time." Sarah pushed past her into the kitchen. She had not been in the house since she was a little girl,--so entirely apart had been the lives of the two families,--but she knew the way to the stairway door. One after another the natural ills of childhood came to her mind. Albert and the twins had had chickenpox and measles and whooping-cough and mumps, and she had nursed them all. She thought of the dreaded scarlet fever and diphtheria. But there was none in the neighborhood. She hurried up the stairway, as there floated down a tiny, querulous voice,-- "I want my Sarah! I want my Sarah!" Albert lay deep in the great feather-bed, his cheeks a flaming crimson, his arms tossing restlessly. Even when Sarah bent over him, he did not know her, but kept on with his restless crying. She put her hand on his hot forehead, she opened the collar of his night-gown. When Aunt Eliza and Uncle Daniel came into the room, she turned upon them a look of such anguish that Aunt 'Liza began to cry, and Uncle Daniel sat down weakly in a chair. "Is it the smallpox?" asked Aunt 'Liza fearfully. Sarah did not answer. She looked at Albert once more. Long before, when her mother was living, the twins had found the Christmas candy, and had eaten it all in a day. Then the twins had had a sorry time. They had looked just like this. "What did you give Albert to eat?" she demanded. "Ach! bread and meat and potatoes and pie, like always, and--" "And what?" insisted Sarah. "And a few crullers." "And what yet?" "And a little candy." "How much candy?" "Ach, such a little bag full." "And what yet?" "A few peanuts," answered Uncle Daniel doggedly. "Get me warm water and mustard," commanded Sarah.