I don't know when I first learned that glass could be melted; perhaps there were pictures in a science pamphlet Wanda had brought home from school. I was amazed, and wondered if I could melt glass.
I had a little piece of broken glass, and while Mama was busy, I took the box of matches from the kitchen and ran down to the hen house. If I worked on the east side of the hen house, she couldn't see me. After the glass was placed on a rock, I carefully took out a match, struck it; the flame went out, as it did several more times. Finally the weak flame inched its way up the match stick and I held it under the corner of the glass; nothing happened. As the heat from the flame came closer to my fingers I had to blow it out and start over. Two, three, four, five matches -- still not a sign that the glass even thought about melting! My experiment had failed!
So I gathered up the box of matches and went back to the house. Now to go up the steps, carefully open the screen door, step inside, and -- I tripped a little bit, dropping the matches which scattered on the floor.
Mama came quickly and of course wanted to know why I had the matches and then told me what a dangerous thing I had just done. "You could have set the hen house on fire!" Punishment? I'm sure there must have been! My guardian angel was getting to know me, and oh how many more times would she have to save me from my experiments in life?