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 mustn't when Zelotes is around. We women, we—well, times like these women HAVE to keep up. What would become of the men if we didn't?”
So she and Rachel “kept up” in public and when the captain was present, and he for his part made no show of grief nor asked for pity. He was silent, talked little and to the callers who came either at the house or office was uncomplaining.
“He died like a man,” he told the Reverend Mr. Kendall when the latter called. “He took his chance, knowin' what that meant—”
“He was glad to take it,” interrupted the minister. “Proud and glad to take it.”
“Sartin. Why not? Wouldn't you or I have been glad to take ours, if we could?”
“Well, Captain Snow, I am glad to find you so resigned.”