ay after day, no longer seemed tedious. He
was absolutely alone, but he never felt the least bit lonely. It was
as if Someone were journeying with him all the way, the invisible
Friend whose Voice he knew and loved and obeyed.

When at length he drew near the clearing in the forest, he both
trembled and rejoiced, at the thought of soon being able to deliver
his message to the woodmen. Coming yet nearer, however, he no longer
saw any blue smoke curling up in a thin spiral between the straight
stems of the forest trees. Neither did he hear any sound of saws
sawing timber, or the men shouting to their horses. The whole place
was silent and deserted. When he reached the clearing, nobody was
there. Even the huts had gone. He would have thought he had mistaken
the place if the dining-shanty had not been there, by the edge of a
little trickling stream, just as he remembered it.

Nowhere was there a living soul to be seen. Evidently all the woodmen
had gone away deeper into the forest to find fresh timber, for the
clearing was much larger and many more trees had been cut down than
on Stephen's first visit. The neglected look of the one big wooden hut
that remained showed that the men had not used it for many days. Weeks
might pass before any of the woodcutters returned.

What was Stephen to do? He had no idea in which direction the woodmen
had departed. It was hopeless to think of tracking them further
through the lonely forest glades. Had the Voice made a mistake? Could
he have misunderstood the command? Was the whole expedition a failure?
Must he return home with his message still undelivered? His heart
burned within him at the thought, and he said, half aloud, 'No, no,
no!'

There was only one way out of the difficulty, the same way that had
helped him to learn his Latin lesson years ago when he was a little
boy. But it was no tiny mossy track now, it was a broad, well-marked
road travelled daily, hourly, through long years,--this Prayer way
that led his soul to God. Tying up his horse to the nearest tree,
Stephen knelt down on the carpet of red-brown pine-needles, and put up
a wordless prayer for guidance and help. Then he began to listen.

Through the windless silence of the forest spaces the Voice came again
more clearly than ever, saying: 'GIVE YOUR MESSAGE. IT IS NOT YOURS
BUT MINE.' Stephen hesitated no longer. He went straight into the
dining-shanty. He strode past the bare empty tables, under which the
long gra