The thought made him so weak in the knees that he was ready to drop from fright and exhaustion.

Then he recalled a superstition that he had often heard, that anyone who has lost his way may find it again by turning his pocket wrong side out.

He was twitching at his with trembling hands, looking with eyes too frightened to see, and fumbling with fingers too stiff with fear to feel, but the pocket seemed to have disappeared.

"It's conju'ed too," he wailed, as he ran heedlessly on.
Something long and white slapped across his face.

An unearthly, wavering voice sounded a hoarse, long-drawn "Moo-oo-oo!" just in front of him.