“They say I’m a thief!”
“Who says so?” she demanded, a Xantippe-like flash in her eyes.
“The bank, they’re examining the books, swooped down like a lot of vultures and hunting for carrion right now.”
“For goodness’ sake! Martin! Sit up and tell me about it! Don’t cover your face as though you were a thief! Of course there’s some mistake, there must be! Get up, tell me. Let’s sit over on that old log and get it straightened out.”
Spurred by her words he raised himself and she mechanically brushed the dry leaves from his coat as they walked to a fallen log and sat down.
“Now tell me,” she urged, “the whole story.”
Haltingly he told the tale, though the process hurt.
“And you ran away,” she exclaimed when he had finished. “You didn’t wait to see what the books revealed? You ran right out here?”
“Yes--no, I stopped at Isabel’s.”
“Oh"--Amanda closed her eyes a moment--it had been Isabel first again! She quickly composed herself to hear what the city girl had done in the man’s hour of trial. “Isabel didn’t believe it, of course?” she asked quietly.