"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!"




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