a very stout man and suffered from several things; his liver was
out of order, and there was something wrong with his feet, perhaps
rheumatism, or some similar disease. When they arrived, they crossed
the bridge and went ashore.

"Is this the place?" asked the philosopher.

"A very little walk will take us there," answered the partner.

They went along a footpath, full of roots, and the path ended
abruptly before a stile. They had to climb over it. Then the road
became stony, and the philosopher complained of his feet, but he
forgot all about his pains when they came to another stile. After
that, all trace of the road disappeared; they walked on the bare
rock through shrubs and bilberry bushes.

Behind the third fence stood a bull, who chased the philosopher
to the fourth stile, where he arrived in a bath of perspiration,
which opened all the pores of his skin. When they had crossed the
sixth stile, they could see the house. The philosopher went in and
immediately stepped on to the verandah.

"Why are there so many trees?" he asked. "They interrupt the view."

"But they shelter the house from the strong sea-breezes," answered
the partner.

"And the place looks like a churchyard; why, the house stands in
the centre of a pine-wood."