“Presently I turned giddy, and lay at full length for a great while, clutching the two edges of the path with both hands, and staring at the ground I was lying on with wide-open eyes. When that passed I felt like a different man and grew conceited and gay. About halfway across I saw someone approaching me a long way off. This put fear into my heart again, for I did not see how we could very well pass. However, I went slowly on, and presently we drew near enough together for me to recognise the walker. It was Slofork, the so-called sorcerer. I had never met him before, but I knew him by his peculiarities of person. He was of a bright gamboge colour and possessed a very long, proboscis-like nose, which appeared to be a useful organ, but did not add to his beauty, as I knew beauty. He was dubbed ‘sorcerer’ from his wondrous skill in budding limbs and organs. The tale is told that one evening he slowly sawed his leg off with a blunt stone and then lay for two days in agony while his new leg was sprouting. He was not reputed to be a consistently wise man, but he had periodical flashes of penetration and audacity that none could equal. “We sat down and faced one another, about two yards apart. “‘Which of us walks over the other?’ asked Slofork. His manner was as calm as the day itself, but, to my young nature, terrible with hidden terrors. I smiled at him, but did not wish for this humiliation. We continued sitting thus, in a friendly way, for many minutes. “‘What is greater than Pleasure?’ he asked suddenly. “I was at an age when one wishes to be thought equal to any emergency, so, concealing my surprise, I applied myself to the conversation, as if it were for that purpose we had met. “‘Pain,’ I replied, ‘for pain drives out pleasure.’ “‘What is greater than Pain?’ “I reflected. ‘Love. Because we will accept our loved one’s share of pain.’ “‘But what is greater than Love?’ he persisted. “‘Nothing, Slofork.’ “‘And what is Nothing?’ “‘That you must tell me.’ “‘Tell you I will. This is Shaping’s world. He that is a good child here, knows pleasure, pain, and love, and gets his rewards. But there’s another world—not Shaping’s—and there all this is unknown, and another order of things reigns. That world we call Nothing—but it is not Nothing, but Something.’ “There was a pause. “‘I have heard,’ said I, ‘that you are good at growing and ungrowing organs?’ “‘That’s not enough for me. Every organ tells me the same story. I want to hear different stories.’ “‘Is it true, what men say, that your wisdom flows and ebbs in pulses?’ “‘Quite true,’ replied Slofork. ‘But those you had it from did not add that they have always mistaken the flow for the ebb.’ “‘My experience is,’ said I sententiously, ‘that wisdom is misery.’ “‘Perhaps it is, young man, but you have never learned that, and never will. For you the world will continue to wear a noble, awful face. You will never rise above mysticism.... But be happy in your own way.’