There was of course unhappiness in his world.

There was death, there was accident occasionally--had his own people not gone down under the scythe of time?
But in going they had left behind in real estate and other things good compensation for their loss.

There was occasional suffering and poverty and trouble in his little kingdom; but a cord of wood here, a barrel of flour there, a side of beef elsewhere, a little debt remitted, a bag of dried apples, or an Indian blanket--these he gave, and had great pleasure in giving; and so the world was not a place where men should hang their heads, but a place where the busy man got more than the worth of his money.
It had never occurred to him that he was ever translating the world into terms of himself, that he went on his way saying in effect, "I am coming.

I am Jean Jacques Barbille.

You have heard of me.