"A pretty picture of the country, truly; but let me ask how often do books reach you?"
"Once a year,—when the Danish ship comes out to bring us bread, sugar, coffee, coal, and such-like things, and to take home the few little trifles, such as furs, oil, and fish, which the natives have picked up in the interval."
"Books to the contrary, I should say the ship would not return more than once without me, were I in your situation."
"So you would think me a sensible fellow, no doubt, if I would pick up this box and carry it off to Paris, or may be to New York?"
"That's exactly what I was thinking; or rather it would certainly have appeared to me more reasonable if you had built it there in the first instance."
"Quite the contrary, I do assure you,—quite the contrary. Indeed, I can prove to your entire satisfaction that I am a very sensible man; but wait until I have shown you all my possessions. Will you look at my farm?"
Farm!—well, this was, after all, exhibiting some claims of the country to the consideration of a civilized man. A farm in Greenland was something I was hardly prepared for.
The Doctor now rose and led the way to the rear of the house, into a yard about eighty feet square, enclosed by a high board fence.
"This is my farm," said the Doctor.
"Where?"