"It never really let go of me--or got rid of me. I alternate, from city to country: read myself to a standstill, and then travel awhile. It's always pleasant, up here. It's like the coast: the seasons don't change anymore. That is, there aren't any seasons--just hints of them. But maybe you know that by now. Ah--yes. I guessed as much. You look like a man that has been out long enough to--well, to look like a man. "I wonder how it will end? The birth-rate's way down, and seems to continue decreasing, even in the country. Maybe the race is gradually dying out: evolution getting rid of an unfit species. But I wouldn't expect it to be so gentle about it. "The more I think about it, the better I see what an infinite amount I've got to learn. Another platitude: Newton picking up pebbles on the sea-shore. Maybe the craze for sheer novelty is one of the things that made this mess. I don't know. But I think that there is such a thing as truth, and that it doesn't adapt itself to conditions: conditions have to adapt themselves to it. Do you agree? Yes, I thought so. I think I'll have to be heading back to the library in a few days. I've seen enough this trek. "There seems to be a guardian angel, somehow, if you believe in that. The explanation's probably a purely natural one. But people come out and live as they like to, with no hindrance, and they prosper. They do a little simple farming, and always have bumper crops. The weather and the wild animals never hurt them, and they never hurt each other. The ones that like to fight do it, but only with swords and knives, and nobody ever seems to get killed. All the literature and art of the world is preserved, for those that want it: as many copies as demanded. Sometimes I bring copies of books with me. It helps, to read them out here. Nature's a lot vaster and more wonderful than we know. "Everything seems to be taken care of. Nobody lives in want or fear anymore. Except," he smiled ruefully, "want of understanding, and fear of death. But we can take things philosophically, to use an old popular expression." The philosopher paused awhile, thinking, observing his perplexing companion. He could not make him out. Presently he returned to his long-standing provisional solution for all problems. "Well, why don't you come back to the library with me? Tramping around out here is all right for a while, it relaxes you and keeps you in touch with things; but meanwhile, time flies. Shall we go?" "I think not," the bearded patriarch replied. "The usefulness of books is all but exhausted for me. And even the greatest and fullest truth, set down in a book, I think must be inadequate. It's not an intellectual thing I seek." * * * * * The philosopher smiled tolerantly. "You have found that the physical is deadly," he replied. "And you do not appear to be a man who enjoys emotional drunkenness. What is it you want?"