The young rider threw back his head. "Me--I'm going to find more than interest! I'll find color and some thrills, too. See if I don't!" Peter laughed grimly. "Yes, you'll find a thrill or two but always where you least expect it." Douglas' smile was twisted. He opened the door and went out into the wind-swept day. Smoke drove horizontally from the low chimneys that dotted the valley. Cattle bellowed as if in disconsolate protest against the ruthless on-march of winter. Douglas, in spite of the last few words with Peter, was in a curiously uplifted frame of mind which for some time he could not dissect. Part of it he knew to be relief from the sudden suspicion that had overwhelmed him, but he was half-way home before he told himself that Peter's essential fineness had revived his faith in the goodness and kindliness in human nature. In a life where one could know a Peter, he thought, there must be beauty and a kind of beauty that Inez could neither find nor appreciate. Poor old Inez! The dinner hour was long past when he jingled along the trail past his father's place. On sudden impulse he turned the Moose into the yard. Judith opened the door. She was in sweater and riding-skirt. Her black hair was bundled up under a round beaver cap under which her bright beauty glowed in a way to lift a far less interested heart than Doug's. "Hello, Douglas!" "Hello, Judith! Where are you going?" "Just out to jump the little wild mare. Where have you been?" "Down to the post-office. I saw Dad heading for Charleton's." "Yes, I'm alone. Mother went over to Grandma's. The old lady is ailing." Douglas jumped from the saddle. "You haven't mentioned it, but, thanks, I will come in. Is there any grub in the house? I haven't had dinner yet." Judith laughed. "I was expecting that! I just finished my own. Come along!" Douglas ate his dinner while Judith watched with speculative eyes. "Peter is a funny old duck," she said finally. "Funny? How?" "O, he's so lonely and so cross and such good company and so kind! I'd like to have known him when he was young." Douglas looked at her closely. "Jude, could you get to care for Peter if you thought he cared for you?" "Who, me? Peter? What's the matter with you, Doug? Why, Peter is as old as Dad!" "What difference does that make?" "It wouldn't make any difference if I cared for him," admitted Judith, tapping thoughtfully on the tablecloth with slim brown fingers. "But do you care for him, Judith?" insisted Douglas. Judith's fine lips twisted contemptuously. "What an idiot you are, Doug!" "Do you, hang it? Answer me, Jude!" "No! No! No! Does that satisfy you?" "Well, partially. Guess I'll have to ask Inez the same question." Judith smiled and shrugged her shoulders. Douglas went on. "I'll bet if you could get the truth out of Inez, Judith, you'd find her suffering torments because she can't marry." "Can't marry? Why can't Inez marry?" demanded Judith belligerently.