Susan nodded dumbly.
"An' it's all ended now an' decided—he can't ever see, I s'pose," went on Mrs. McGuire. "I heard 'em talkin' down to the store last night. It seems terrible."
"Yes, it does." Susan was sweeping vigorously now, over and over again in the same place.
"I wonder how—he'll take it."
Susan stopped sweeping and turned with a jerk.
"Take it? He's got to take it, hain't he?" she demanded fiercely. "He's GOT TO! An' things you've got to do, you do. That's all. You'll see. Keith Burton ain't no quitter. He'll take it with his head up an' his shoulders braced. I know. You'll see. Don't I remember the look on his blessed face that day he went away, an' stood on them steps there, callin' back his cheery good-bye?"
"But, Susan, there was hope then, an' there isn't any now—an' you haven't seen him since. You forget that."
"No, I don't," retorted Susan doggedly. "I ain't forgettin' nothin'.
'But you'll see!"
"An' he's older. He realizes more. Why, he must be—How old is he, anyway?"
"He'll be nineteen next June."