The telegram from the War Department was brief, as all such telegrams were perforce obliged to be.The Secretary of War, through his representative, regretted to inform Captain Zelotes Snow that Sergeant Albert Speranza had been killed in action upon a certain day.It was enough, however--for the time quite enough.
It was not until later that the little group of South Harniss recovered sufficiently from the stunning effect of those few words to think of seeking particulars.Albert was dead; what did it matter, then, to know how he died?
Olive bore the shock surprisingly well.Her husband's fears for her seemed quite unnecessary.The Captain, knowing how she had idolized her daughter's boy, had dreaded the effect which the news might have upon her.She was broken down by it, it is true, but she was quiet and brave--astonishingly, wonderfully quiet and brave.And it was she, rather than her husband, who played the part of the comforter in those black hours.
"He's gone, Zelotes," she said."It don't seem possible, I know, but he's gone.And he died doin' his duty, same as he would have wanted to die if he'd known 'twas comin', poor boy.So--so we must do ours, I suppose, and bear up under it the very best we can.It won't be very long, Zelotes," she added."We're both gettin' old."Captain Lote made no reply.He was standing by the window of the sitting-room looking out into the wet backyard across which the wind-driven rain was beating in stormy gusts.
"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, Ipromise 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.
"Labe," he said, slowly, "did it seem to you that I was too hard on him?"Laban did not understand."Hard on him?" he repeated."I don't know's I just get--""Hard on Al.Did it seem to you as if I was a little too much of the bucko mate to the boy? Did I drive him too hard? Was Iunreasonable?"
The answer was prompt."No, Cap'n Lote," replied Keeler.
"You mean that?...Um-hm....Well, sometimes seems as if Imight have been.You see, Labe, when he first come I-- Well, Ical'late I was consider'ble prejudiced against him.Account of his father, you understand.""Sartin.Sure.I understand."
"It took me a good while to get reconciled to the Portygee streak in him.It chafed me consider'ble to think there was a foreign streak in our family.The Snows have been straight Yankee for a good long while....Fact is, I--I never got really reconciled to it.I kept bein' fearful all the time that that streak, his father's streak, would break out in him.It never did, except of course in his poetry and that sort of foolishness, but I was always scared 'twould, you see.And now--now that this has happened I--Ikind of fret for fear that I may have let my notions get ahead of my fair play.You think I did give the boy a square deal, Labe?""Sure thing, Cap'n."
"I'm glad of that....And--and you cal'late he wasn't--wasn't too prejudiced against me? I don't mean along at first, I mean this last year or two."Laban hesitated.He wished his answer to be not an overstatement, but the exact truth.
