I tried successive leaps then, always with the same result. I calculated that here the pull of gravity must be something less than one‑half that on the earth. It was far more than father had believed.
Miela watched my antics, laughing and clapping her hands with delight. I found I tired very quickly—that is, I was winded. This I attributed to the greater density of the air I was breathing.
In five minutes I was back at Miela's side, panting heavily.
"If I can—ever get so I breathe right—" I said.
She nodded. "A very little time, I think."
I sat down for a moment to recover my breath. Miela explained then that we were some ten miles from the fertile country surrounding the city in which her mother lived, and about fifteen miles from the outskirts of the city itself. I give these distances as they would be measured on earth. We decided to start at once. We took nothing with us. The journey would be a short one, and we could easily return at some future time for what we had left behind. We needed no food for so short a trip, and plenty of water was at hand.
Only one thing Miela would not part with—the single memento she had brought from earth to her mother. She refused to let me touch it, but insisted on carrying it herself, guarding it jealously.
It was Beth's little ivory hand mirror!
We started off. Miela had wound the filmy scarf about her shoulders again with a pretty little gesture.
"I need not use wings, Alan, when I am with you. We shall go together, you and I—on the ground."