Our way led up heights of marvelous beauty, along the edges of deep defiles that opened below our feet like valleys of Paradise.  The candlenut, the ama, with its lilac bloom, the hibiscus and pandanus, green and glossy, the petavii, a kind of banana the curving fronds of which spread high in air, the snake-plant, makomako, a yellow-flowered shrub, and many others none of us could name, carpeted the farther mountain-sides with brilliant colors.  Everywhere were cocoanuts, guavas, and mangos.  In the tree-tops over our heads the bindweed shook its feathery seed-pods, the parasite kouna dripped its deeply serrated leaves and crimson umbels, and thousands of orchids hung like butterflies.

“It is beautiful in your islands, is it not?” Vanquished Often said wistfully.  “Tell us more of the marvels there!  Are the girls of your valleys very lovely, and do they all sleep in golden beds?”

All daughters of chiefs slept in golden beds, I told her.  Often they wore golden slippers on their feet.  When they wished to go over the mountains they did not walk, or ride on donkeys, but went in seats covered with velvet, a kind of cloth more soft than the silk ribbon of her pink garter-armlet, and these seats were drawn at incredible speed by a snorting thing made of iron, not living, but stronger than a hundred donkeys.

“How do they make that cloth?” said Vanquished Often, eagerly.  They did not make it, I explained.  It was made for them by girls who were not daughters of chiefs, and therefore had no golden beds.

Her eyes clouded with bewilderment, but Exploding Eggs listened breathlessly, and demanded more tales.  I told them of wireless telegraphy.  This they believed as they believed the tales of magic told by old sorcerers, but they scoffed at my description of an elevator, perceiving that I was loosing the reins of my fancy and soaring to impossibilities.

“The girls in your island must always be happy,” said Vanquished Often, sighing.  All daughters of chiefs were happy, I said.  “What is the manner of their fishing?” asked Exploding Eggs.

In such conversation we proceeded, walking for miles through a fairyland in which we were the only living creatures, save for the small scurrying things that slipped across the trail, and the bright-colored birds that fluttered through the tree-tops.

At noon we paused for luncheon.  Vanquished Often disappeared in the forest, to return shortly with her gathered-up tunic filled with mangos and guavas, four cocoanuts slung in a neatly plaited basket of leaves on her bare shoulders.  Exploding Eggs, cutting two sticks of dry wood from the underbrush, whirled them upon each other with such speed and dexterity that soon a small fire, fed by shreds of cocoanut fiber, blazed on a rock, with plantains heaped about it to roast.

While we rested after the feast Vanquished Often, squatted by my side, made for my comfort a wide-brimmed hat of thick leaves pinned together with thorns, a shelter from the sun’s rays that was grateful to my tender scalp.  Resuming our way, we met upon the trail a handsome small wild donkey, fearful of our kind, yet longing for company.