A strange wonder throbbed in Langford's brain. And suddenly he found himself thinking: "Jimmy Cricket!" Yes, that was it! The tiny shape was as friendly, as puckish, as noble in essence as that little nursery rhyme will-o'-the-wisp, Jimmy Cricket. And it did look like a cricket; a chirping, gleeful, truly great cricket. Suddenly down the long sweep of the years Langford saw two small human figures advancing over a path of golden bricks toward a glittering distant palace. One of the forms was himself, the other his sister. They moved in awe and terror, because the palace was inhabited by a mighty wizard with truly terrifying powers. But when they reached the palace they met a human, likeable little man who wasn't terrible at all. And they knew then that the mighty wizard was a humbug. But somehow in his simple humanness the wizard seemed even greater than he had been. Greater, but no longer terrifying. Jimmy Cricket was--the Wizard of Oz. And he was something more. A lonely, wayfaring stranger, blown from his course by ill cosmic winds, taking reasonable precautions, but seeking only a responsive friendliness in the gulfs between the stars. For a moment Langford felt a swirl of energy brush his fingertips, like the clasp of an intangible hand. Then the mental voice said: "Good heavens, Langford! You're dripping wet! See how the dry leaves of the forest cling to your feet!" Startled, Langford lowered his eyes. When he looked up the circle of radiance was gone. "Forgive me, Langford!" a faint, diminishing voice said. "But partings should not be prolonged! Goodbye, my friend!" When Langford emerged on the riverbank, sunlight struck down over his tall, straight body, giving him the aspect of a Greek god emerging from a forest glade in the morning of the world. He paused for an instant on the sloping bank to wave to his wife. Then he plunged into the river and swam straight toward her.