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 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