And in another moment, out in the clean and glorious sun that had followed storm, McKay held the shining tress of Nada's hair.
It was a real sob that broke in his throat now, and Peter saw him crush the shining thing to his face, and hold it there, while strange quivers ran through his strong shoulders, and a wetness that was not rain gathered in his eyes.
"God bless her!" he whispered.

And then he said, "I wish I was a kid, Peter--a kid.

Because--if I ever wanted to cry--IT'S NOW." In his face, even with the tears and the strange quivering of his lips, Peter saw a radiance that was joy.

And McKay stood up, and looked south, back over the trail he had followed through the blackness and storm of night.

He was visioning things.