We had not realized the long gentle rise from the coast perhaps.
"Mighty lucky piece of land, I call it," Terry pursued.

"Now for the folks--I've had enough scenery." So we sailed low, crossing back and forth, quartering the country as we went, and studying it.

We saw--I can't remember now how much of this we noted then and how much was supplemented by our later knowledge, but we could not help seeing this much, even on that excited day--a land in a state of perfect cultivation, where even the forests looked as if they were cared for; a land that looked like an enormous park, only it was even more evidently an enormous garden.
"I don't see any cattle," I suggested, but Terry was silent.

We were approaching a village.
I confess that we paid small attention to the clean, well-built roads, to the attractive architecture, to the ordered beauty of the little town.

We had our glasses out; even Terry, setting his machine for a spiral glide, clapped the binoculars to his eyes.
They heard our whirring screw.