"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.
And 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 any event, in the state of destitution into which we had fallen, we were not in a mood to ponder too scrupulously.
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, in which we voluptuously laved our faces, hands, and feet.
While we were all giving way to the delights of new-found pleasures, a little child appeared between two tufted olive trees.
"Ah," cried I, "an inhabitant of this happy country."