“You’re right, there,” he said in a low voice. “That was one of the hardest things that ever happened. If there’s a God I’d like to know why he let it happen. Juan Garcia was the salt of the earth—a great man. He was the best son, the best husband and the best friend I ever knew. And he was killed offhand, for no reason, by an unnecessary accident, leaving these poor, helpless creatures this way.”
He made a gesture with his head toward the door.
“You knew him well?” said Mariposa.
The gray eyes looked into hers very gravely.
“He was my best friend,” he answered; “the best friend any man ever had in the world.”
The girl saw he was moved.
“The people we love, and depend on, and live for always die,” she said gloomily.
“But others come up. They don’t quite take their places, but they fill up the holes in the ranks. We’re not expected always to love comfortably and be happy. We’re expected to work; that’s what we’re here for, and there’s plenty of it to do. Haven’t I got my work cut out for me,” suddenly laughing, “in those two boys?”
Mariposa’s pale lips showed the ripple of an assenting smile.
“They’re certainly a serious proposition,” he continued, “and poor Elsie can’t any more manage ’em than she could ride a bucking bronco. But they’ll pull out all right. Don’t you worry. Those boys are all right.”