tion. "I grant that is a difficulty. According to it, we have always been going northward."
"Then it lied."
"Hem—to say it lied is rather a harsh word," was my answer.
"Then we are at the north pole———"
"The pole—no—well—well, I give it up," was my reply. The plain truth was, that there was no explanation possible. I could make nothing of it.
All the while we were approaching this beautiful verdure, hunger and thirst tormented me fearfully. Happily, after two long hours' march, a beautiful country spread out before us, covered by olives, pomegranates, and vines, which appeared to belong to anybody and everybody. In the state of destitution into which we had fallen, we were not particular to a grape.
What delight it was to press these delicious fruits to our lips, and to bite at grapes and pomegranates fresh from the vine. Not far off, near some fresh and mossy grass, under the delicious shade of some trees, I discovered a spring of fresh water, into which we voluptuously laved our faces, hands, and feet.
While we were all giving way to the delights of newfound pleasures, a little child appeared between two tufted olive trees. "Ah," cried I, "an inhabitant of this happy country."
The little fellow was poorly dressed, weak and suffering, and appeared terribly alarmed at our appearance. Half-naked, with tangled, matted and ragged beards, we did look supremely ill-favored; and unless the country was a bandit land, we were not unlikely to alarm the inhabitants!
Just as the boy was about to take to his heels, Hans ran after him, and brought him back, despite his cries and kicks. My uncle tried to look as gentle as possible, and then spoke in German. "What is the name of this mountain, my friend?"
The child made no reply.
"Good," said my uncle, with a very positive air of conviction, "we are not in Germany." He then made the same demand in English, of which language he was an excellent scholar.
The child shook its head and made no reply.
