Herland [6]
hardly believing that there was such a place, and now --we were in it.
It looked safe and civilized enough, and among those upturned, crowding faces, though some were terrified enough, there was great beauty--on that we all agreed.
"Come on!" cried Terry, pushing forward. "Oh, come on! Here goes for Herland!"
CHAPTER 2
Rash Advances
Not more than ten or fifteen miles we judged it from our landing rock to that last village. For all our eagerness we thought it wise to keep to the woods and go carefully.
Even Terry's ardor was held in check by his firm conviction that there were men to be met, and we saw to it that each of us had a good stock of cartridges.
"They may be scarce, and they may be hidden away somewhere-- some kind of a matriarchate, as Jeff tells us; for that matter, they may live up in the mountains yonder and keep the women in this part of the country--sort of a national harem! But there are men somewhere--didn't you see the babies?"
We had all seen babies, children big and little, everywhere that we had come near enough to distinguish the people. And though by dress we could not be sure of all the grown persons, still there had not been one man that we were certain of.
"I always liked that Arab saying, `First tie your camel and then trust in the Lord,'" Jeff murmured; so we all had our weapons in hand, and stole cautiously through the forest. Terry studied it as we progressed.
"Talk of civilization," he cried softly in restrained enthusiasm. "I never saw a forest so petted, even in Germany. Look, there's not a dead bough--the vines are trained--actually! And see here"--he stopped and looked about him, calling Jeff's attention to the kinds of trees.
They left me for a landmark and made a limited excursion on either side.
"Food-bearing, practically all of them," they announced returning. "The rest, splendid hardwood. Call this a forest? It's a truck farm!"
"Good thing to have a botanist on hand," I agreed. "Sure there are no medicinal ones? Or any for pure ornament?"
As a matter of fact they were quite right. These towering trees were under as careful cultivation as so many cabbages. In other conditions we should have found those woods full of fair foresters and fruit gatherers; but an airship is a conspicuous object, and by no means quiet--and women are cautious.
All we found moving in those woods, as we started through them, were birds, some gorgeous, some musical, all so tame that it seemed almost to contradict our theory of cultivation--at least until we came upon occasional little glades, where carved stone seats and tables stood in the shade beside clear fountains, with shallow bird baths always added.
"They don't kill birds, and apparently they do kill cats," Terry declared. "MUST be men here. Hark!"
We had heard something: something not in the least like a birdsong, and very much like a suppressed whisper of laughter --a little happy sound, instantly smothered. We stood like so many pointers, and then used our glasses, swiftly, carefully.
"It couldn't have been far off," said Terry excitedly. "How about this big tree?"
There was a very large and beautiful tree in the glade we had just entered, with thick wide-spreading branches that sloped out in lapping fans like a beech or pine. It was trimmed underneath some twenty feet up, and stood there like a huge umbrella, with circling seats beneath.
"Look," he pursued. "There are short stumps of branches left to climb on. There's someone up that tree, I believe."
We stole near, cautiously.
"Look out for a poisoned arrow in your eye," I suggested, but Terry pressed forward, sprang up on the seat-back, and grasped the trunk. "In my heart, more likely," he answered. "Gee! Look, boys!"
We rushed close in and looked up. There among the boughs overhead was something--more than one something--that clung motionless,
It looked safe and civilized enough, and among those upturned, crowding faces, though some were terrified enough, there was great beauty--on that we all agreed.
"Come on!" cried Terry, pushing forward. "Oh, come on! Here goes for Herland!"
CHAPTER 2
Rash Advances
Not more than ten or fifteen miles we judged it from our landing rock to that last village. For all our eagerness we thought it wise to keep to the woods and go carefully.
Even Terry's ardor was held in check by his firm conviction that there were men to be met, and we saw to it that each of us had a good stock of cartridges.
"They may be scarce, and they may be hidden away somewhere-- some kind of a matriarchate, as Jeff tells us; for that matter, they may live up in the mountains yonder and keep the women in this part of the country--sort of a national harem! But there are men somewhere--didn't you see the babies?"
We had all seen babies, children big and little, everywhere that we had come near enough to distinguish the people. And though by dress we could not be sure of all the grown persons, still there had not been one man that we were certain of.
"I always liked that Arab saying, `First tie your camel and then trust in the Lord,'" Jeff murmured; so we all had our weapons in hand, and stole cautiously through the forest. Terry studied it as we progressed.
"Talk of civilization," he cried softly in restrained enthusiasm. "I never saw a forest so petted, even in Germany. Look, there's not a dead bough--the vines are trained--actually! And see here"--he stopped and looked about him, calling Jeff's attention to the kinds of trees.
They left me for a landmark and made a limited excursion on either side.
"Food-bearing, practically all of them," they announced returning. "The rest, splendid hardwood. Call this a forest? It's a truck farm!"
"Good thing to have a botanist on hand," I agreed. "Sure there are no medicinal ones? Or any for pure ornament?"
As a matter of fact they were quite right. These towering trees were under as careful cultivation as so many cabbages. In other conditions we should have found those woods full of fair foresters and fruit gatherers; but an airship is a conspicuous object, and by no means quiet--and women are cautious.
All we found moving in those woods, as we started through them, were birds, some gorgeous, some musical, all so tame that it seemed almost to contradict our theory of cultivation--at least until we came upon occasional little glades, where carved stone seats and tables stood in the shade beside clear fountains, with shallow bird baths always added.
"They don't kill birds, and apparently they do kill cats," Terry declared. "MUST be men here. Hark!"
We had heard something: something not in the least like a birdsong, and very much like a suppressed whisper of laughter --a little happy sound, instantly smothered. We stood like so many pointers, and then used our glasses, swiftly, carefully.
"It couldn't have been far off," said Terry excitedly. "How about this big tree?"
There was a very large and beautiful tree in the glade we had just entered, with thick wide-spreading branches that sloped out in lapping fans like a beech or pine. It was trimmed underneath some twenty feet up, and stood there like a huge umbrella, with circling seats beneath.
"Look," he pursued. "There are short stumps of branches left to climb on. There's someone up that tree, I believe."
We stole near, cautiously.
"Look out for a poisoned arrow in your eye," I suggested, but Terry pressed forward, sprang up on the seat-back, and grasped the trunk. "In my heart, more likely," he answered. "Gee! Look, boys!"
We rushed close in and looked up. There among the boughs overhead was something--more than one something--that clung motionless,