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d spread…legged in the middle of the truckbed head cocked up at the stars again； smiling broadly； unmindful of the boughs that whipped at him as Harry turned his truck toward the highway。 〃Look； boss！〃 he cried in a low； rapturous voice； pointing up into the black night。 〃It's Cassie； the lady in the rockin chair！〃
He was right； I could see her in the lane of stars between the dark bulk of the passing trees。 But it wasn't Cassiopeia I thought of when he spoke of the lady in the rocking chair； it was Melinda Moores。
〃I see her； John；〃 I said； and tugged on his arm。 〃But you have to sit down now； all right？〃
He sat with his back against the cab； never taking his eyes off the night sky。 On his face was a look of sublime unthinking happiness。 The Green Mile fell farther behind us with each revolution of the Farmall's bald tires； and for the time being； at least； the seemingly endless flow of John Coffey's tears had stopped。
7。
It was twenty…five miles to Hal Moores's house on Chimney Ridge； and in Harry Terwilliger's slow and rattly farm truck； the trip took over an hour。 It was an eerie ride； and although it seems to me now that every moment of it is still etched in my memory … every turn； every bump； every dip； the scary times （two of them） when trucks passed us going the other way … I don't think I could e even close to describing how I felt； sitting back there with John Coffey； both of us bundled up like Indians in the old blankets Harry had been thoughtful enough to bring along。
It was； most of all； a sense of lostness … the deep and terrible ache a child feels when he realizes he has gone wrong somewhere； all the landmarks are strange； and he no longer knows how to find his way home。 I was out in the night with a prisoner … no
