The shoes were nearly rent from my feet by the infernal rocks, which were all pitted as if by some geological small-pox.

When at last I crossed the divide, I had a horrible business getting down from one level to another in a gruesome corrie, where each step was composed of smooth boiler-plates.
But at last I was among the bogs on the east side, and came to the place beside the road where I had fixed my cache.
The faithful Amos had not failed me.

There were the provisions--a couple of small loaves, a dozen tins, and a bottle of whisky.

I made the best pack I could of them in my waterproof, swung it on my stick, and started back, thinking that I must be very like the picture of Christian on the title-page of _Pilgrim's Progress_.
I was liker Christian before I reached my destination--Christian after he had got up the Hill Difficulty.

The morning's walk had been bad, but the afternoon's was worse, for I was in a fever to get back, and, having had enough of the hills, chose the longer route I had followed the previous day.