Rafael looked somewhat bewildered. "These animals are all so foreign-looking to me," he said gently; "and it is a new thing for me to see men digging in the fields, and women picking leaves from the trees."
"Why, of course!" said Edith, remembering that Rafael was used to canals instead of roads, and the changing waters of a lagoon rather than green meadows. "It is a new sight to me, as well," she added, "that of women picking the mulberry leaves to feed to silkworms. We have few silkworms in our country.
"But neither do we have mountains crowned with castles. When I go home, I shall have to imagine that the hotel on top of Mt. Washington is a haunted monastery crowning the summit of a lofty peak."
Although Rafael knew nothing about Mt. Washington and the hotel on its top, he did know that Edith was a bright, observant girl who liked a touch of the ideal, so he asked, "Do you know about the Marathon runs of ancient Greece?"
"Yes, indeed!" she answered. "We have them now once a year at my own home in the United States, and there is great excitement over the winning of the twenty-six mile run."
Rafael shook his head in mock discouragement. "There is nothing in Europe which you have not also in the United States,—except age," he added.
"And history," said Edith.
"Yes, history," the boy repeated. "I like our history." Then he laughed and said drolly, "You may have all the history you like from my mother. She says it is better than salt. My own head is filled to bursting with all the stories she has told me of the men of olden times; of their wars and victories, their triumphs and their games. Why can we not call this ride to Rome a Marathon run?"
"A Marathon run! What fun!" exclaimed the girl. "How far away is Rome?"
"More than a hundred miles," he said. "Do you suppose we could possibly reach the site of the Golden Milestone before sunset?"