overcoat and the winter past. All his mind was on was the Golden
Bells of China. And he thought long until his uncle and father
came, so that he could be off with them to the strange Chinese land.

"But there's no use to me going there," says he. "I couldn't marry
her. She would laugh at me," he says. "She, who refused the son
of the King of Siam, with his hundred princes on a hundred elephants,
what use would she have for me, who's no better nor a peddler with his
pack? But it would be worth walking the world barefoot for to see
that little golden face, to hear the low, sweet voice they call
Golden Bells."

They came back in due time, his uncle Matthew, the red, hairy man,
and his father, the thin, dark man, who knew precious stones.
And he told them he wanted to go with them when they made their
next expedition to China.

"We could be using you, after your training in trade," says the
father. But Marco Polo would take no interest in barter. "Sure,
you'd better come along," says his uncle Matthew. "There's great
sport to be had on the road, kissing and courting the foreign women
and not a word of language between you, barring a smile and a laugh."

"I have no interest in the foreign women, Uncle Matthew."

"Then it's the horses you've been hearing about, the fine Arab
horses faster nor the wind, and the little Persian ponies they do
be playing polo on, and the grand Tatar hunters that can jump the
heighth of a man, and they sure-footed as a goat. Ah, the horses,
the bonny horses!"