"No, I suppose she didn't. But she cried and fussed and said my
reputation was ruined for life and even if my innocence is proved I can
never wholly live down such a reputation. She was worried because the
thing may come out in the papers and her name brought into it. She's
mighty much upset about Isabel Souders, didn't care a picayune about
Martin Landis."
"She'll get over it," Amanda told him, a lighter feeling in her heart.
"What we are concerned about now is Martin Landis. You should have
stayed and seen it through, faced them and demanded the lie to be
traced to its source. Why, Martin, cheer up, this can't harm you!"
"My reputation," he said gloomily.
"Yes, your reputation is what people think you are, but your character
is what you really are. A noble character can often change a very
questionable reputation. You know you are honest as the day is long--we
are all sure of that, all who know you. Martin, nothing can hurt
_you!_ People can make you unhappy by such lies and cause the road
to be a little harder to travel but no one except yourself can ever
touch _you!_ Your character is impregnable. Brace up! Go back and
tell them it's a lie and then prove it!"
"Amanda"--the man's voice quavered. "Amanda, you're an angel! You make
me buck up. When you found me I felt as though a load of bricks were
thrown on my heart, but I'm beginning to see a glimmer of light. Of
course, I can prove I'm innocent!"
"Listen, look!" Amanda whispered. She laid a hand upon his arm while
she pointed with the other to a tree near by.
There sat an indigo bunting, that tiny bird of blue so intense that the
very skies look pale beside it and among all the blue flowers of our
land only the fringed gentian can rival it. With no attempt to hide his
gorgeous self he perched in full view on a branch of the tree and began
to sing in rapid notes. What the song lacked in sweetness was quite
forgotten as they looked at the lovely visitant.
"There's your blue bunting of hope," said Amanda as the bird suddenly
became silent as though he were out of breath or too tired to finish
the melody.
"He's wonderful," said Martin, a light of hope once more in his eyes.
"Yes, he is wonderful, not only because of his fine color but because
he's the one bird that sultry August weather can't still. When all
others are silent he sings, halts a while, then sings again. That is
why I said he is your blue bunting of hope. Isn't it like that with us?
When other feelings are gone hope stays with us, never quite deserts
us--hear him!"