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CHAPTER XX
"Thus far," said Malachi of the Long Glen, "the story of Marco Polo."
"That is a warm story, Malachi of the Glen, a warm and colored story,
and great life to it, and Golden Bells is as alive to me as herself
there by the fire, and I can see Marco Polo as plain as I can see my
cousin Randall, and he playing with dogs. . ."
"If they weren't real and live and warm, what would a story be, Brian
Oge, but a jumble of dead words? A house with nobody in it, the poorest
thing in the world."
"But Marco Polo came back to Venice, Malachi, and fought in the
sea-wars."
"There's more to tell, Brian Oge. But sometimes I wonder shouldn't
the best part of the story be kept to yourself. The people aren't
as wise as they used to be, brown lad. The end of a story now is a
bit of kissing and courting and the kettle boiling to be making tea.
"But the older ones were wiser, Brian Donn. They knew that the
rhythm of life is long and swinging, and that time doesn't stop
short as a clock. Sure, what is a kiss from the finest of women
but a pleasant thing, like a long putt sunk, or the first salmon
of the year caught like a trout, or the ball through the goal before
the whistle blows? And there's many a well-filled belly over a
hungry soul.
"But a story is how destiny is interwoven, the fine and gallant
and the tragic points of life. And you mustn't look at them with
the eyes of the body, but you must feel with the antennae of your being.
Now, if you were to look at the Lord Jesus with physical eyes, what
would it be but a kindly, crazy man and He coming to a hard and
bitter end? Look at it simply, and what was the story of Troy but
a dirty row over a woman?
"But often times the stories with endings that grocer's daughters do
not be liking are the stories that are worth while. And the worth
while stories do be lasting. Never clip a story half-ways because
Widow Robinson doesn't like to have her mind disturbed, and she
warming her breadth at the fire. The Widow Robinson may have a
white coin to buy a book with, and think you're the grand author
entirely and you pleasing her. But Lord God, who gave you the
stories, know you for a louse.
"I call to your mind the stories of great English writer -- the plays
of the Prince of Denmark, and the poor blind king on the cliff,
and the Scottish chieftain and his terrible wife. The Widow Robinson
will not like those stories, and she will be keeping her white coin
. .But those stories will endure forever. . .
"I will now tell you of Marco Polo, and him leaving China. . .
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