“I’m so glad it isn’t worse.”
“Yes, ain’t, abody still has something to be thankful for? Then you’ll come on over, Amanda?”
“Yes, I’ll be over.”
As the girl walked down the road she felt a strange mingling of emotions. She couldn’t refuse the plea of Mrs. Landis, but one thing was certain--she wouldn’t see Martin! He’d be up-stairs and she could stay down. Perhaps she could help with the work in the kitchen-- anything but see Martin!
Mrs. Landis was excited as she drew her visitor into the warm kitchen, but the excitement was mingled with wrath. “What d’you think, Amanda,” she exclaimed, “our Mart---”
“Yes, our Mart---” piped out one of the smaller children, but an older one chided him, “Now you hush, and let Mom tell about it.”
“That Lyman Mertzheimer,” said Mrs. Landis indignantly, “abody can’t trust at all! He let me believe that he and Martin was walkin’ along friendly like and that’s how Mart got hurt. But here after Lyman left and the doctor had Mart all fixed up and was goin’ he told me that Martin was in the side of the road and wouldn’t got hurt at all if he hadn’t run to the middle to pull Lyman back. He saved that mean fellow’s life and gets no thanks for it from him! After all Lyman’s dirty tricks this takes the cake!”
Amanda’s eyes sparkled. “He--I think Martin’s wonderful!” she said, her lips trembling.
“Yes,” the mother agreed as she wiped her eyes with one corner of her gingham apron. “I’d rather my boy laid up in bed hurt like he is than have him like Lyman.”
“Oh, Mom,” little Emma came running into the room, “I looked in at Mart and he’s awake. Mebbe he wants somebody to talk to him like I did when I had the measles. Dare I go set with him a little if I keep quiet?”