The Night of the Storm
It was raining heavily. I was alone at home. My parents had gone to my aunt’s house in the next town and were to return only the next morning. The wind howled, the lights flickered and at about nine o’clock the electricity went off.
I lit a candle and sat in the kitchen, trying to read. Suddenly I heard a faint knock at the door. My heart began to beat fast. I peeped through the window and saw an old woman standing in the rain, holding a small child in her arms. She was shivering and her clothes were soaked.
I opened the door and brought them inside. The child was burning with fever. I gave them dry clothes, hot milk and a blanket, and telephoned our family doctor, who lived two streets away. The doctor came at once, examined the child and gave him medicine. The old woman told me that they were travellers and had lost their way in the storm.
In the morning my parents returned and found the three of us asleep near the stove. The old woman blessed me with tears in her eyes. That night I learnt that the bravest thing in the world is not to be fearless, but to open one’s door to a stranger in need.