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a knife。
〃And what do you think of New York； Malachi？〃
〃I was here before； your honor will remember。 I fought at the
Wilderness。〃
I forbore asking him what change he had found。 I saw his quivering
nostrils。
In a few days he would proceed south； when he had orientated himself
after the days of shipboard。 That night it seemed every one chose to
come in and cluster around the fire。 Randall； the poet； and the two blond
Danish girls； with their hair like flax； Fraser； the golfer； just over from
Prestwick； and a young writer； with his spurs yet to win； and this
one。 。 。and that one。
They all kept silence as old Malach spoke； sportsmen； artists； men and
women of the world； a hush came on them and their eyes showed they
were not before the crackling fire in the long rooms but amazed in the
Antrim glens。
Yes； old Malachi said； things were changed over there； and a greater
change was liable。 。 。People whispered that in the Valley of the Black Pig
the Boar without Bristles had been seen at the close of the day； and in
Templemore there was a bleeding image； and these were ominous
portents。 。 。Some folks believed and some didn't。 。 。 And the great Irish
hunter that had won the Grand National； the greatest horse in the
world。 。 。But our Man of War； Malachi？。 。 Oh； sure； all he could do was
run； and a hare or a greyhound could beat him at that； but Shawn Spadah；
a great jumper him； as well as a runner； in fine； a horse。 。 。And did I know
that Red Simon McEwer of Cushundall had gone around Portrush in
eighteen consecutive fours？ 。 。 。A Rathlin Islander had tried the swim
across to Scotland； but didn't make it； and there was great arguing as to
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whether it was because of the currents or of lack of strength。 。 。There were
rumblings in the Giants' Causeway。 。 。very strange。 。 。A woman in Oran
had the second sight； the most powerful gift of second sight in
generations。 。 。There was a new piper in Islay； and it was said he was a
second McCrimmon。 。 。And a new poet had arisen in Uist； and all over the
Highlands they were reciting his songs and his 〃Lament for the
Bruce〃。 。 。Was I still as keen for； did I still remember the poems； and the
great stories？。 。 。
〃'Behold； the night is of great length；'〃 I quoted； 〃'Unbearable。 Tell us；
therefore； of those wondrous deeds。'〃
〃If you've remembered your Gaidhlig as you've remembered your
Greek！〃
〃It's a long time since you've had a story of me； twelve long years； and
it's a long time before you'll have another； and I going away tomorrow。
Old Sergeant Death has his warrant out for me this many a day； and it's
only the wisdom of an old dog fox that eludes him； but he'll lay me by the
heels one of these days。 。 。then there'll be an end to the grand stories。 。 。So
after this； if you're wanting a story； you must be writing it yourself。 。 。
〃But before I die； I'll leave you the story of Marco Polo。 There's been
a power of books written about Marco Polo。 The scholars have pushed
up their spectacles and brushed the cobwebs from their ears； and they've
said； 'There's all there is about Marco Polo。'
〃But the scholars are a queer and blind people； Brian Oge。 I've heard
tell there's a doctor in Spain can weigh the earth。 But he can't plow a
furrow that is needful； for planting corn。 The scholars can tell how many
are the feathers in a bird's wing； but it takes me to inform the doctors why
the call comes to them； and they fly over oceans without compass or
sextant or sight of land。
〃Did you ever see a scholar standing in front of a slip of a girl？ In all
his learning he can find nothing to say to her。 And every penny poet in
the country knows。
〃Let you be listening now； Brian Oge； and let also the scholars be
listening。 But whether the scholars do or not； I'm not caring。 A pope once
listened to me with great respect； and a marshal of France and poets
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without number。 But the scholars do be turning up their noses。 And；
mind you； I've got as much scholarship as the next man； as you'll see from
my story。
〃Barring myself； is there no one in this house that takes snuff？ No！
Ah； well； times do be changing。〃
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CHAPTER I
Now it's nearing night on the first day of spring； and you could see
how loath day was to be going for even the short time until the rising of
the sun again。 And though there was a chill on the canals； yet there was
great color to the sunset； the red of it on the water ebbing into orange； and
then to purple； and losing itself in the olive pools near the mooring…ties。
And a little wind came up from the Greek islands； and now surged and
fluttered； the way you'd think a harper might be playing。 You'd hear no
sound； but the melody was there。 It was the rhythm of spring； that the
old people recognize。
But the young people would know it was spring； too； by token of the
gaiety that was in the air。 For nothing brings joy to the heart like the
coming of spring。 The folk who do be blind all the rest of the year； their
eyes do open then； and a sunset takes them； and the wee virgin flowers
coming up between the stones； or the twitter of a bird upon the
bough。 。 。And young women do be preening themselves； and young men
do be singing； even they that have the voices of rooks。 There is something
stirring in them that is stirring； in the ground； with the bursting of the
seeds。 。 。
And young Marco Polo threw down the quill in the counting house
where he was learning his trade。 The night was coming on。 He was
only a strip of a lad； and to lads the night is not rest from work； and the
quietness of sleeping； but gaming； and drinking； and courting young
women。 Now； there were two women he might have gone to； and one
was a great Venetian lady； with hair the red of a queen's cloak； and a great
noble shape to her and great dignity。 But with her he would only be
reciting verses or making grand； stilted compliments； the like of those you
would hear in a play。 And while that seemed to fit in with winter and
candlelight； it was poor sport for spring。 The other one was a black； plump
little gown…maker； a pleasant； singing little woman； very affectionate； and
very proud to have one of the great Polos loving her。 She was eager for
kissing； and always asking the lad to be careful of himself； to be putting
his cloak on； or to be sure and drink something warm when he got home
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that night； for the air from the canals was chill。 The great lady was too
much of the mind； and the little gown…maker was too much of the body；
either of them； to be pleasing young Marco on the first night of spring。
Now； it is a queer thing will be pleasing a young man on the first night
of spring。 The wandering foot itches； and the mind and body are keen to
follow。 There is that inside a young man that makes the hunting dog rise
from the hearth on a moonlit night： 〃Begor！ it's myself'll take a turn
through the fields on the chance of a bit of coursing。 A weasel； maybe； or
an otter； would be out the night。 Or a hare itself。 Ay； there would be sport
for you！ The hare running hell…for…leather； and me after him over brake
and dell。 Ay！