Our young people gladly availed themselves of the courtesy extended to them and after walking a short distance through a shady wood they came to the bank of a gleaming blue lake whose rippling waters flashed back the sparkling sunbeams, and on whose surface floated unique and dainty pleasure-boats. Into one of these they stepped and soon were sailing quietly along, enjoying both the refreshing breezes and the beauty of the scene. The shore line was dotted with villas which looked like fairy-palaces, so exquisite were they in coloring and design, while back of them rose purple-hued hills, a most effective background. While they sailed our young people told their new friends something of themselves and their experiences while traveling in space. All was listened to with intense interest. When they had finished telling about the magic power of their wishing-robes, their entertainers asked if they would mind exhibiting themselves in their native costumes. “Certainly not,” said Ione, “we would be delighted to do so, but our garments will seem strange and perhaps even ridiculous to you. If they do, you may laugh as much as ever you like for I assure you we will not be offended in the least.” “One, two, three. Presto change,” said Harold, and there stood four oddly attired people looking unlike anything their Venus friends had ever seen or dreamed of. They might have been mistaken for figures of wax shown in a museum but that Ione laughed outright when she saw the wide-open eyes and astonished expressions on the faces of their friends. “Well, how do you like our native garments?” she asked. “You know that the Prince and the Princess live on one continent of the Earth, while Harold and I live on another and that accounts for the differences in our style of dress.” “Which style do you prefer?” asked the Princess of the beautiful little lady from Venus. “Oh, yours,” she replied. “Your attire is much more artistic and natural than the other more sombre garb. Your white blouse, blue velvet jacket embroidered with gold, soft silken sash, golden anklets, and slippers turned up at the toes, all are harmonious and beautiful I think, while the white turban of the Prince and his white skirts held in place by that knotted sash, and the dagger at his side, all are more to my taste than those queer-looking narrow bags which you (turning to Harold) wear, and which you call trousers or than that high, stiff starched garment you call a shirt. How you can breathe one minute in it is more than I can tell, while I should think the collar would saw your ears off.”