“I guess you are. There, we’re all fixed up now. I’ll send one of the boys over next week with the team to take back the borrowed chairs. I’ll walk home with you, Manda. What’s Lyman Mertzheimer hanging around for? Soon as those people by the door leave, we can lock up and go.”
“Why--Martin--thank you--but Lyman asked to walk home with me.”
“Oh! All right,” came the calm reply. “I’ll see you again. Good-night, Amanda.”
“Good-night, Martin.”
She looked after him as he walked away, the plumed knight of her castles in Spain. She had knighted him that day long ago when he had put out the fire and kissed her hand, and during the interval of years that childish affection had grown in her heart. In her thoughts he was still “My Martin.” But the object of that long-abiding affection showed all too plainly that he was not cognizant of what was in the heart of his childhood’s friend. To him she was still “Just Amanda,” good comrade, sincere friend.
Fortunately love and hope are inseparable. Amanda thought frequently of the verse, “God above is great to grant as mighty to make, and creates the love to reward the love.” It was not always so, she knew, but she hoped it would be so for her. Martin Landis, unselfish, devoted to his people, honest as a dollar, true as steel--dear Martin, how she wanted to walk home with him that night of the Spelling Bee instead of going with Lyman Mertzheimer!
The voice of the latter roused her from her revery. “I say, Amanda, are we going to stay here all night? Why in thunder can’t those fools go home so you can lock the door and go! And I say, Amanda, don’t you think Martin Landis is letting himself grow shabby and seedy? He’s certainly settling into a regular clodhopper. He shuffled along like a hecker to-night. I don’t believe he ever has his clothes pressed.”
“Martin’s tired to-night,” she defended, her eyes flashing fire. “He worked in the fields all day, helping his father. Then he and one of his brothers took their team and went after some chairs I wanted to borrow for the Spelling Bee. They arranged the room for me, too.”
“Oh, I see. Poor fellow! It must be the very devil to be poor!”
The words angered the girl. “Well,” she flared out, “if you want to talk about Martin Landis, you go home. I’ll get home without you.”