were a secret language which he had studied. He understood their thoughts, interpreted their legends. To him they were living things.
Such was the environment in which the youth of Hung Long Tom had been spent. His education though deep was a sketchy thing. It penetrated and became infused with his very blood but it was without purpose or design. It was directed toward him in an impractical manner. From the four quarters of the world travelers came to his father's garden to talk about jades and jewels and always the father saw to it that some part of the visit was devoted to his son.
Each wayfarer told exciting tales to the little boy, of the countries that fringe China and also of the far places of the earth. Hung Long Tom listened to their stories and marveled. They broadened his vision. They caused him to meditate and dream. They were bringers of rich music to the garden. The little boy could hear symphonies in the stories. And he grew to believe that each one of us marches
to strange music which he alone hears. Our
