“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 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.” Captain Zelotes looked at him. “Resigned?” he repeated. “What do you mean by resigned? Not to sit around and whimper is one thing--any decent man or woman ought to be able to do that in these days; but if by bein' resigned you mean I'm contented to have it so--well, you're mistaken, that's all.” Only on one occasion, and then to Laban Keeler, did he open his shell sufficiently to give a glimpse of what was inside. Laban entered the inner office that morning to find his employer sitting in the desk chair, both hands jammed in his trousers' pockets and his gaze fixed, apparently, upon the row of pigeon-holes. When the bookkeeper spoke to him he seemed to wake from a dream, for he started and looked up. “Cap'n Lote,” began Keeler, “I'm sorry to bother you, but that last carload of pine was--” Captain Zelotes waved his hand, brushing the carload of pine out of the conversation.