ttle group of South Harniss recovered sufficiently from the
stunning effect of those few words to think of seeking particulars.
Albert was dead; what did it matter, then, to know how he died?

Olive bore the shock surprisingly well. Her husband's fears for her
seemed quite unnecessary. The Captain, knowing how she had idolized her
daughter's boy, had dreaded the effect which the news might have upon
her. She was broken down by it, it is true, but she was quiet and
brave--astonishingly, wonderfully quiet and brave. And it was she,
rather than her husband, who played the part of the comforter in those
black hours.

"He's gone, Zelotes," she said. "It don't seem possible, I know, but
he's gone. And he died doin' his duty, same as he would have wanted
to die if he'd known 'twas comin', poor boy. So--so we must do ours,
I suppose, and bear up under it the very best we can. It won't be very
long, Zelotes," she added. "We're both gettin' old."

Captain Lote made no reply. He was standing by the window of the
sitting-room looking out into the wet backyard across which the
wind-driven rain was beating in stormy gusts.

"We must be brave, Zelotes," whispered Olive, tremulously. "He'd want us
to be and we MUST be."

He put his arm about her in a sudden heat of admiration. "I'd be ashamed
not to be after seein' you, Mother," he exclaimed.

He went out to the barn a few moments later and Rachel, entering the
sitting-room, found Olive crumpled down in the big rocker in an agony of
grief.

"Oh, don't, Mrs. Snow, don't," she begged, the tears streaming down her
own cheeks. "You mustn't give way to it like this; you mustn't."

Olive nodded.

"I know it, I know it," she admitted, chokingly, wiping her eyes with a
soaked handkerchief. "I shan't, Rachel, only this once, I promise you.
You see I can't. I just can't on Zelotes's account. I've got to bear up
for his sake."

The housekeeper was surprised and a little indignant.

"For his sake!" she repeated. "For mercy sakes why for his sake? Is it
any worse for him than 'tis for you."

"Oh, yes, yes, lots worse. He won't say much, of course, bein' Zelotes
Snow, but you and I know how he's planned, especially these last years,
and how he's begun to count on--on Albert. . . . No, no, I ain't goin'
to cry, Rachel, I ain't--I WON'T--but sayin' his name, you know, kind
of--"

"I know, I know. Land sakes, DON'T I know! Ain't I doin' it myself?"

"Course you are, Rachel. But we mus