Everyone's doing healings now. Maybe I should do the rattlesnake bit," Lennie Krenner said. "They loved it in Memphis when I stuck my hand into that crate of snakes."

Deborah was irritated that her husband had awakened her from a dreamless sleep just to hear him think aloud. During his 30-month tour she had seldom doubted that his chief concern was using his remarkable powers for the good of others. Yet as he paced the hotel bedroom in his silk pajamas, thinking of feats to perform at the Dallas Civic Center, she questioned his motives.

"Let's go home, Lennie," she whispered sadly. This idea had been occurring to her more often. She yearned to return to her job in the public library of Marianna, Pennsylvania, where raw-cheeked children had laughed as she read stories to them. Then the valley of slag dumps, leafless trees, and wooden miners' houses visible beyond the windows of the reading room had seemed unimportant. She had taught the children the possibility of happier worlds. Wasn't that just as important as Lennie's ministry?