"Go back! With Jude believing I double-crossed her and nothing but rows going all the time? I'll admit I'm unhappy, but at least it's peaceful at Charleton's. He and his wife don't fight. I tell you that if home's just a place to fight in, I don't want a home." "What do you want, Douglas?" asked Peter. "I don't know," muttered the young rider. "I know," said Peter softly. "You want a guiding star, you want something that's not to be found in this valley, an ideal fine enough to save your soul alive. You come of stock that lived and died by a spiritual idea, Doug, and you are going to be unhappy till you find one." Douglas turned this over in his mind soberly for a few minutes. "Have you got one, Peter?" he finally asked, wistfully. "No! I might have had if your mother had lived. She was an idealist if ever there was one. Work yourself out a plan, Doug, that is based on something fine, then fight to put it over. That's the only way you'll ever be contented." "What I want," cried Douglas, "is something to take away this emptiness inside of me." "Exactly! And I'm telling you how. And the reason I know is because I started out in life with the idea that women and the day's work were enough. Maybe they are for a man like your father, though I doubt it. But a man like you or me isn't built for promiscuity either in love or in work. We are the kind that have to choose a fine, straight line and then hew to it, keep our faith in it, never leave it." He paused for so long a time that Douglas stirred uneasily, then said, "How did you learn different, Peter?" "By doing all the things that impulse and youth suggested, regardless of any suggestions or advice, and arriving at middle life with my mind and heart as empty as yours. Don't do it, Doug. It makes tragedy of old age." Douglas rose slowly. "I don't see what in the world I can do with myself," he said heavily, and he rode back to Charleton's ranch. Books had perhaps been Douglas' greatest solace that long winter. Charleton had a good many, mostly representing his young delvings into the realms of agnosticism. His later purchases simmered down to a few volumes of poetry. There were several of Shakespeare's plays around the cabin and these Douglas read again and again. He did not see much of Little Marion, who was a great gad-about, and who, when she was at home, was monopolized by Jimmy Day. Mrs. Falkner he found immensely companionable. She had a half-caustic wit which he enjoyed, but he liked best to have her argue with Charleton on what she called his dog-eat-dog theory of life. He had reason, not long after his conversation with Peter, to recall the postmaster's comments on Charleton. Very early one morning Charleton roused him and told him to ride like forty furies after Grandma Brown. Douglas obeyed him literally and arrived at the Brown ranch with the Moose in a sweating lather. When he banged on the door, Grandma, clutching her nightdress at the throat, put her head out.