When I was still climbing trees, there lived in our village, not two kilometers from our house, a man named Mr. Sommer. No one knew what Mr. Sommer's first name was, and no one knew if Mr. Sommer had a profession. It was only known that Mrs. Sommer had a job, specifically that of a doll maker. Although almost nothing was known about the Sommers, and especially about Mr. Sommer, one could rightly say that within a radius of at least sixty kilometers around the lake, there was no person—man, woman, or child—not even a dog—who did not know Mr. Sommer, for Mr. Sommer was always on the move. It could be snowing or hailing, it could be storming or pouring rain, the sun could be blazing, or a hurricane could be approaching; Mr. Sommer was out wandering.