Word: vagabonde
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...stories, fables, philosophies, and poetry which make up the Old Testament are manifold, and, as far as the Vagabond is concerned, those few bits with which he is conversant are eternal and inviolate--chiselled into his youthful Sunday School memory while it was yet malleable. There is no comparable literature so beautifully turned and so thoughtfully set down; none other has survived the harsh voyage down the ages, through third and fourth generations, even unto the hundreth and two hundreth and more...
...these days of atheism, Communism, Hitlerism, and all the other "isms," the Vagabond cannot but wonder at the fact that the sale of Bibles still far surpasses that of metcoric best-sellers. Like its contents, the Bible remains constant, steady, year in, year out. Abuse it has had, and plenty of it. Incongruities are constantly being magnified and then challenged by students and by those who would tear down its precepts. Politicians of the boom-and-bellow school still mouth its apt passages as reason for, or argument against, their platforms. Men, worthy and unworthy, have been swept into office...
Before the Vagabond left the cockpit to return home; a Nantucketer who had been reckoning; the lines of his boat, shuffled his feet and spat over the wharf as though he wanted to step down and talk. The Vagabond hailed him to come aboard. The old salt accepted, and soon they were swapping tales such as only fishermen and sailors can. As the man, his face a grey stubble and his eyes reflecting a quiet pride, forgot the Cambridge puppy squatted before him and became absorbed in his own, other world, there unrolled a story...
...Nantucket sailor taught the Vagabond more of serious sailing...
Yesterday the Vagabond got in his car and bounced merrily down to Fairhaven to look at his boat. The day overhead was dark, and occasional drops of rain and mist spread over his windshield as he made his way through the New England manufacturing towns that lie between Boston and New Bedford, and the harbor looked cold and grey to him as he crossed over the bridge to Fairhaven and pulled through winding slum streets to the yacht yard. The yard looked mournful, too: several fishermen from Nantucket, old home of the whalers, were tied up at the quay making...