rolled and writhed about and his lips muttered words. It was useless. His
mind also was swept away. The clouds of which he felt himself a part flew
across the face of the sky. They blotted out the sun from the earth, and
darkness descended on the land, on the troubled towns, on the hills that
were torn open, on the forests that were destroyed, on the peace and quiet
of all places. In the country stretching away from the river where all had
been peace and quiet, all was now agitation and unrest. Houses were
destroyed and instantly rebuilt. People gathered in whirling crowds.

The dreaming man felt himself a part of something significant and terrible
that was happening to the earth and to the peoples of the earth. Again
he struggled to awake, to force himself back out of the dream world into
consciousness. When he did awake, day was breaking and he sat on the very
edge of the cliff that looked down upon the Mississippi River, gray now in
the dim morning light.

* * * * *

The towns in which Hugh lived during the first three years after he began
his eastward journey were all small places containing a few hundred people,
and were scattered through Illinois, Indiana and western Ohio. All of
the people among whom he worked and lived during that time were farmers
and laborers. In the spring of the first year of his wandering he passed
through the city of Chicago and spent two hours there, going in and out at
the same railroad station.

He was not tempted to become a city man. The huge commercial city at the
foot of Lake Michigan, because of its commanding position in the very
center of a vast farming empire, had already become gigantic. He never
forgot the two hours he spent standing in the station in the heart of the