We set forth in the open, walking briskly. “If there are any men, we’d better keep an eye out,” I suggested, but Jeff seemed lost in heavenly dreams, and Terry in highly practical plans. “What a perfect road! What a heavenly country! See the flowers, will you?” This was Jeff, always an enthusiast; but we could agree with him fully. The road was some sort of hard manufactured stuff, sloped slightly to shed rain, with every curve and grade and gutter as perfect as if it were Europe’s best. “No men, eh?” sneered Terry. On either side a double row of trees shaded the footpaths; between the trees bushes or vines, all fruit-bearing, now and then seats and little wayside fountains; everywhere flowers. “We’d better import some of these ladies and set ’em to parking the United States,” I suggested. “Mighty nice place they’ve got here.” We rested a few moments by one of the fountains, tested the fruit that looked ripe, and went on, impressed, for all our gay bravado by the sense of quiet potency which lay about us. Here was evidently a people highly skilled, efficient, caring for their country as a florist cares for his costliest orchids. Under the soft brilliant blue of that clear sky, in the pleasant shade of those endless rows of trees, we walked unharmed, the placid silence broken only by the birds. Presently there lay before us at the foot of a long hill the town or village we were aiming for. We stopped and studied it. Jeff drew a long breath. “I wouldn’t have believed a collection of houses could look so lovely,” he said. “They’ve got architects and landscape gardeners in plenty, that’s sure,” agreed Terry. I was astonished myself. You see, I come from California, and there’s no country lovelier, but when it comes to towns--! I have often groaned at home to see the offensive mess man made in the face of nature, even though I’m no art sharp, like Jeff. But this place! It was built mostly of a sort of dull rose-colored stone, with here and there some clear white houses; and it lay abroad among the green groves and gardens like a broken rosary of pink coral. “Those big white ones are public buildings evidently,” Terry declared. “This is no savage country, my friend. But no men? Boys, it behooves us to go forward most politely.” The place had an odd look, more impressive as we approached. “It’s like an exposition.” “It’s too pretty to be true.” “Plenty of palaces, but where are the homes?” “Oh there are little ones enough--but--.” It certainly was different from any towns we had ever seen. “There’s no dirt,” said Jeff suddenly. “There’s no smoke,” he added after a little. “There’s no noise,” I offered; but Terry snubbed me--“That’s because they are laying low for us; we’d better be careful how we go in there.” Nothing could induce him to stay out, however, so we walked on.