She flung open the furnace door. Red and purple
the coal bed gleamed, with little white flame sprites
dancing over it. Fanny stared at it a moment, fascinated.
Her face was set, her eyes brilliant. Suddenly she flung
the tightly-rolled apron into the heart of the gleaming
mass. She shut her eyes then. The fire seemed to hold its
breath for a moment. Then, with a gasp, it sprang upon its
food. The bundle stiffened, writhed, crumpled, sank, lay a
blackened heap, was dissolved. The fire bed glowed red and
purple as before, except for a dark spot in its heart.
Fanny shivered a little. She shut the furnace door and went
up-stairs again.
"Smells like something burning--cloth, or something," called
Annie, from the kitchen.
"It's only an old apron that was cluttering up my--my bureau
drawer."
Thus she successfully demonstrated the first lesson in the
cruel and rigid course of mental training she had mapped out
for herself.
Leaving Winnebago was not easy. There is something about a
small town that holds you.
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