What though the years were dusty, he had his friends and his memories and his old black brier pipe.

He had a girl's picture that he should carry in his heart till his last day; and if his life was sadder, it was infinitely richer for it.
His winter fireside should be not so lonely for her sake; and losing her, he lost not everything, for he had the rare blessing of having known her.

And what man could wish to be healed of such a hurt?
Far better to have had it than to trot a smug pace unscathed.
He had been a dullard; he had lain prostrate in the wretchedness of his loss.

"A girl you could put in your hat--and there you have a strong man prone." He had been a sluggard, weary of himself, unfit to fight, a failure in life and a failure in love.

That was ended; he was tired of failing, and it was time to succeed for a while.