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Amanda — a Daughter of the Mennonites by Anna Balmer Myers
page 40 of 265 (15%)
Phil took turns at stirring. She watched passively while Millie poured
pounds of sugar into the boiling mass. She even missed the customary
thrill as some of the odorous contents of the kettle were tested and
the verdict came, "It's done!" The thrills of apple-butter boiling were
as nothing to her now. She still felt the wonder of being rescued from
the fire, rescued by a nice boy with a strong arm and a gentle voice--
what if it was only a boy she had known all her life!--her heart
enshrined its first hero that day.

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!



CHAPTER IV

A VISIT TO MARTIN'S MOTHER

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