Chap­ter XV opens with Phil in a state of des­per­a­tion, nav­i­gat­ing a coun­try­side unfa­mil­iar to him while dressed in cir­cus clothes that make him a glar­ing tar­get. His slow horse does lit­tle to help, and he’s forced to think quick­ly to avoid being over­tak­en by his pur­suers. With calm nerves and a sharp eye, he takes cov­er behind a pole wag­on and watch­es his ene­mies pass by, unaware of his hid­ing place. The tac­tic works, and though the imme­di­ate dan­ger fades, he is far from safe. The biggest obsta­cle now is survival—his mon­ey is gone, he has no ride, and he’s still wear­ing a uni­form that could reveal who he is. Phil decides to switch out his clothes with what­ev­er he can find, assem­bling an out­fit that, while shab­by, helps him blend in bet­ter with the com­mon folk he may encounter on his way.

Although he is now hard­er to iden­ti­fy, Phil’s jour­ney to Cor­in­to is far from easy. Walk­ing alone with no food and lit­tle rest takes a toll on his ener­gy, and his thoughts often drift to the cir­cus he left behind. Still, his goal is clear: he must reach Mr. Spar­ling and share what he knows before it’s too late. At times, he avoids main roads and slips through wood­ed paths, unwill­ing to risk being seen. Rail­road tracks become his main route, not because they’re faster, but because they give him a loose guide through the region. The occa­sion­al tramp or pass­ing farmer offers him either mild kind­ness or wary glances, and Phil learns quick­ly to keep con­ver­sa­tions short. His resolve doesn’t fal­ter, even as the soles of his shoes wear thin and the hunger in his bel­ly grows sharp­er.

As the miles pass under­foot, Phil’s spir­it is test­ed. He’s no longer the cheer­ful per­former who once daz­zled crowds, but a young man hard­ened by the weight of respon­si­bil­i­ty. Hunger is con­stant, but he keeps mov­ing, dri­ven by the image of the cir­cus tents and the peo­ple under them who have come to mean so much to him. A sin­gle apple tossed to him by a young boy feels like a feast, and he accepts it with grat­i­tude that shows in his eyes. Each step for­ward is an act of qui­et courage. Even as the day fades into dusk, Phil con­tin­ues, paus­ing only to rest in out-of-the-way places where he can’t be eas­i­ly found. He may be alone, but the mis­sion he’s car­ry­ing fuels his deter­mi­na­tion.

In the silence of the night, he reflects on his path, weigh­ing the dan­gers he escaped against the loy­al­ty he feels toward Mr. Spar­ling. His young mind, though weary, under­stands the impor­tance of duty. It’s not just about get­ting back—it’s about pro­tect­ing the peo­ple who gave him pur­pose. The cir­cus isn’t mere­ly a job; it’s a fam­i­ly. And while his jour­ney is grim, it’s also filled with small vic­to­ries. A place to rest undis­turbed, a piece of bread earned through a kind word, or a short­cut that shaves miles off his route—all these moments keep him going. And slow­ly, the dis­tant lights of Cor­in­to begin to feel more reach­able.

Though he doesn’t know exact­ly what awaits him in Cor­in­to, Phil pre­pares him­self for any­thing. His thoughts run through dif­fer­ent scenarios—perhaps the pur­suers beat him there, or Mr. Spar­ling has already tak­en pre­cau­tions. Either way, Phil has no inten­tion of turn­ing back. With every pass­ing hour, he becomes more resource­ful, alert to the signs of trou­ble, and more deeply anchored in his pur­pose. He uses every avail­able resource, from stray news­pa­pers lin­ing his path to over­heard con­ver­sa­tions that give him clues about near­by towns. The jour­ney shapes him, not just as a char­ac­ter in this tale, but as a sym­bol of per­se­ver­ance. Each test he faces is met with resolve, and every moment of weak­ness is matched by a surge of inner strength.

By the time he final­ly approach­es the out­skirts of Cor­in­to, Phil is a changed boy. Dusty, worn out, but far from bro­ken, he car­ries with him the grit and grace of some­one who knows what it means to strug­gle for a cause greater than him­self. He has faced fear, fatigue, and failure—and has walked through each with­out sur­ren­der. The town, once just a des­ti­na­tion on a map, now feels like the final gate­way to some­thing impor­tant. His pace quick­ens, not because he has ener­gy to spare, but because he sens­es the urgency. There is some­thing pow­er­ful about a boy on a mis­sion, espe­cial­ly one armed with lit­tle more than heart and a clear sense of duty. And as he takes those last steps into Cor­in­to, he does so with the qui­et con­fi­dence of some­one who has already con­quered more than most will ever know.