She forgot the terror that had seized her as the flames licked up her
dress, the scorching touch on her hand was obliterated from her memory
and only the healing gentleness of the kiss remained.
"He kissed my hand," she thought that night as she lay under her
patchwork quilt. "It was just like the stories we read about in school
about the 'knights of old that were brave and bold.'"
She thought of the picture on the schoolhouse wall. Sir Galahad, the
teacher had called it, and read those lovely lines that Amanda
remembered and liked--"My strength is as the strength of ten because my
heart is pure."
Martin was like that!