He was conscious of the odor of pines; conscious of a shower of pine-needles when he brushed back against a tree.

And there were cones beneath his feet.
But his madness would not bear him on to the cabin door.

At intervals with fire in his brain he knew he heard the voice of a man.
In a vague eternity of minutes he waited until the door opened and lamplight streamed brightly over the sill.

A man stepped forth.
Something seemed to snap in Kenny's heart.

Relief roared in his ears and rushed unbidden to his lips.
"Oh, my God!" he gasped.
It was the gentle, white-haired minister with a book beneath his arm.
Startled the old man drew back and peered uncertainly into the darkness.