When Amanda awoke the next morning her first thought was of the burnt
hand and its healing kiss. "Why, Martin--ach, Martin--he kissed my
hand," she said softly to herself. "Just like they do in the stories
about knights--knights always kiss their ladies' hands. Ach, I know
what I'll do! I'll play Martin Landis is my knight and I'm his lady
grand. Wish Mom was here, then I'd ask her if she knows anything about
what knights do and how the ladies ought to act to them. But she's in
Lancaster. Mebbe Millie would know. I'll go ask her once."

Millie was baking pies when the girl sought her for the information.

"Say, Millie!"

"Ach, what?" The hired girl brushed the flour from her bare arms and
turned to look at Amanda. "Now I know what you want--you smell the pies
and you want a half-moon sample to eat before it's right cold and get
your stomach upset and your face all pimply. Ain't?"

"No," began the child, then added diplomatically, "why, yes, I do want
that, but that ain't what I come for."

Millie laughed. "Then what? But don't bother me for long. I got lots to
do yet. I want to get the pies all done till your mom gets back."

"Why, Millie, I wondered, do you know anything about knights?"

"Not me. I sleep nights."

"Ach, Millie--knights--the kind you read about, the men that wear