“Why, Mrs. Ellis,” he cried, as soon as he could trust himself to speak at all, “I don't see THAT. Penfold was a six-footer, wasn't he? And--and athletic, you know, and--and a minister, and young--younger, I mean--and--” Rachel interrupted. “Yes, yes, I know,” she said. “And Laban is little, and not very young, and, whatever else he is, he ain't a minister. I know all that. I know the outside of him don't look like Robert Penfold at all. But,” somewhat apologetically, “you see I've been acquainted with him so many years I've got into the habit of seein' his INSIDE. Now that sounds kind of ridiculous, I know,” she added. “Sounds as if I--I--well, as if I was in the habit of takin' him apart, like a watch or somethin'. What I mean is that I know him all through. I've known him for a long, long while. He ain't much to look at, bein' so little and sort of dried up, but he's got a big, fine heart and big brains. He can do 'most anything he sets his hand to. When I used to know him, when I was a girl, folks was always prophesyin' that Laban Keeler would turn out to be a whole lot more'n the average. He would, too, only for one thing, and you know what that is. It's what has kept me from marryin' him all this time. I swore I'd never marry a man that drinks, and I never will. Why, if it wasn't for liquor Labe would have been runnin' his own business and gettin' rich long ago. He all but runs Cap'n Lote's place as 'tis. The cap'n and a good many other folks don't realize that, but it's so.” It was plain that she worshiped the little bookkeeper and, except during the periods of “vacation” and “sympathetics,” was tremendously proud of him. Albert soon discovered that Mr. Keeler's feeling for her was equally strong. In his case, though, there was also a strong strain of gratitude. “She's a fine woman, Al,” he confided to his assistant on one occasion. “A fine woman. . . . Yes, yes, yes. They don't make 'em any finer. Ah hum! And not so long ago I read about a passel of darn fools arguin' that the angels in heaven was all he-ones. . . . Umph! . . . Sho, sho! If men was as good as women, Ansel--Alfred--Albert, I mean--we could start an opposition heaven down here most any time. 'Most any time--yes, yes.” It was considerable for him to say. Except when on a vacation, Laban was not loquacious. Each Sunday afternoon, when the weather was pleasant, he came, dressed in his best black cutaway, shiny at elbows and the under part of the sleeves, striped trousers and a pearl gray soft hat with a black band, a hat which looked as much out of place above his round, withered little face as a red roof might have looked on a family vault, and he and the housekeeper went for a walk. Rachel, in her Sunday black, bulked large beside him. As Captain Zelotes said, the pair looked like “a tug takin' a liner out to sea.” CHAPTER V