Peter Knight heaved a great frosted boulder out to the ground level.

"Charleton," he said slowly, "doesn't the thought of lying in a forgotten
grave give you dumb horrors?"

"Sometimes," replied Charleton laconically, as he beat his cold hands
together. "But only sometimes."

Douglas strained forward in the intensity of his interest.

Douglas' father straightened his broad shoulders. "If I let myself think
about it, I have to go out and get drunk," he muttered.

"You don't conject right about them things," cried Johnny. "You got to
listen to things."

No one heeded the sad-faced little man. Peter stooped for another frozen
clod. "I'd give my right hand for my mother's faith in a living God," he
said.

"But if there isn't any God, what is there?" cried Douglas, with
passionate protest in his voice.

"Don't you try to discuss matters you ain't old enough to understand,
son," ordered John Spencer.

"Unbelief is the price we pay for scientific progress," said Charleton.
"Me, I'm willing to pay."

"I'm not," growled Peter, "but I don't see any way round it. Come on,