But he dreaded the open highway and pictured himself John Gilpining through town and village, a thing of ridicule and helpless progress.

Puck in the guise of a hairbrained mule! He would pound onward into the night and throw his rider with the dawn.
At dusk the mule came out unexpectedly upon a turnpike and halted with a snort.

Perfectly convinced that he was planning something or other spectacular and public, Kenny slid instantly from his back and grabbed his knapsack.

He left Leath Macha in an attitude of hairtrigger contemplation, apparently about to begin something at once.

When Kenny looked back the dusk or the forest had engulfed him.