Slowly the shape of flame began to contract. Its edges became brighter, sweeping inward to become a small, dazzling circle of radiance that hovered in the air like a blazing signet ring.
In the middle of the ring a tiny form appeared. Amidst Langford's rioting thoughts one thing stood out with mind-numbing clarity. The form was minute, so tiny that the mantis shape it had shot into the void would have utterly dwarfed it. The form was minute, and yet—it did resemble a mantis. Its arms were upraised, and its pinpoint eyes fastened on Langford with a blazing intensity that seemed to bore deep into his brain.
But there was no enmity in that stare. Only complete gratitude, trust and friendship. Yes, and a certain greatness!
"Now you see me as I really am!" the voice said. "I am so small that you could crush me between your thumb and forefinger. But I would not hesitate to alight on your thumb, my friend!"
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!"