"No use," gasped Terry. "They got away with it. My word!
The men of this country must be good sprinters!"
"Inhabitants evidently arboreal," I grimly suggested.
"Civilized and still arboreal--peculiar people."
"You shouldn't have tried that way," Jeff protested. "They
were perfectly friendly; now we've scared them."
But it was no use grumbling, and Terry refused to admit any
mistake. "Nonsense," he said. "They expected it. Women like to
be run after. Come on, let's get to that town; maybe we'll find
them there. Let's see, it was in this direction and not far from the
woods, as I remember."
When we reached the edge of the open country we reconnoitered
with our field glasses. There it was, about four miles off, the
same town, we concluded, unless, as Jeff ventured, they all had
pink houses. The broad green fields and closely cultivated gardens
sloped away at our feet, a long easy slant, with good roads
winding pleasantly here and there, and narrower paths besides.
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