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!




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