Chapter VIII: The Revel

Morning broke in misty promise on the day of the Pony Fair, and Samuel Winter was first to set forth from Shipley. He had been up since light making the great bull's toilet, and now man and beast tramped together through a meadow in the valley, where was a field path that shortened the journey to Brent. 'Turk,' in his lordly prime, strode through the white meadow mist behind Samuel, who led him by a rope attached to a ring in his nose. The great red 'Devon' had curls on his forehead, short, stubby horns and a broad back, as flat as a table from shoulder-blade to haunch. He was in grand fettle, and Samuel, too, looked transformed from the slouch of every day. He wore his best clothes, a new, hard hat and a blue tie--his last birthday present from his aunt. Yellow leggings completed Sammy's attire and he puffed a pipe, sending smoke into the cold, morning air, while Turk snorted warm, sweet breath, that turned to steam.

John Henry and Peter were the first to start from Red House. Indeed they overtook Samuel and joined the procession of the bull.

At a later hour Margery, Avis and Auna drove off in a trap together, and they passed Adam Winter on foot, also journeying to Brent for the day.

Jacob made it clear that he should not visit the township, or the fair. He was going to Owley, to see Joe Elvin, and might then ride further. Margery begged him to reconsider his determination and join her presently; but he could not undertake an enterprise so distasteful.

"I shall hear all about it afterwards," he said.

He ate his dinner alone and then rode out, stopping a moment to see Mr. Marydrew. William was just emerging from his cottage gate, dressed for the revel.

"How's the distemper?" he asked.

"Got it under. It will be past in ten days. The trouble has taught me something and made me think better of my son, Peter. Good pluck and good sense there, Billy."

"I told you what was hid in that boy."

"Off to the fair, I see."

"Yes, faith. Not many more junkettings in store for me. And, finding the day so brave, I felt up for anything. Josh Peatheyjohns is going to give me a lift from his corner."

"And what do you get out of this racket and noise, and crush of beasts and humans?" asked Jacob.

Billy laughed.

"What do I get out of it? Well, I get pleasure out of it--an old man's pleasure. First there's the pleasure of following custom and doing, yet again, what I've done more than fifty years already. And to be well enough to go at all is a pleasure in itself. Then there's the old faces and funny customers I've known when we were boys--a good few yet. And then there's the sight of the young; because if you can't have a good time yourself, the next best thing is to see somebody else having a good time. And to watch the young enjoying themselves and doing all the same things we did, brings back the past in a cheerful sort of way."

"I'm answered, then," replied Jacob, "and it's a good advertisement for your pleasures, Billy, that you can live them over again in others. When I'm old, there will be nothing like that for me."

"You're too old for your age as it is," answered the elder. "There's nought makes a man grow old before his time like brooding and over-much thought. Solitude throws you in on your own nature, Jacob, and a man's own nature ain't always the best company for him."

"That's true enough."

"On an annual great day like this, nobody did ought to turn his back on his neighbours, but go amongst 'em in a spirit of good-will and charity. A gathering of jolly souls is good for the heart, because you're drove out of yourself, and hear other opinions, and rub off the rust of the mind."

He chattered till Josh Peatheyjohns and his market cart appeared in the road ahead.

"Come on, grandfather!" shouted the farmer, and soon Billy was borne away, while Jacob rode his horse through the autumnal lanes. He passed Bullstone Farm, but did not enter; then he descended to Glaze Brook, where the ancient pear tree stood, more ghostly than ever in its cerecloth of grey lichens; and then he climbed to Owley.

Robert Elvin had already gone to the fair, with two ponies and a dozen ewe lambs to sell. His mother and father were at home, and Jacob, tethering his horse, knocked at the door. Mrs. Elvin admitted him and he soon sat beside the sick farmer. Joe suffered from paralysis and was now bed-ridden. He took his troubles ill and seemed not very grateful for Bullstone's call. His wife was weary and worn. She confessed, as she saw the visitor to his horse an hour later, that it would be a great blessing when it pleased the Lord to remove her husband; and she uttered a hope that Jacob would not feel her son too young to carry on.

"Bob's a man in all but years," she said, "and you can trust him, as Joe has trusted him ever since he was struck down."

But Bullstone made no promises. He condoled with the wife and agreed that her husband could not go too soon, since his life was a burden to him and all brought in contact with him. He praised Robert, who was favourably known, and, after leaving Owley, rode round the farm and satisfied himself that no neglect appeared. He then called on Jane Huxam at Owley Cot and heard that Jeremy had gone to the fair. Jane was packing and she declared herself very sorry to depart.

"The green-grocer's is likely to suit my husband best, however," she said, "because the brightest of him, which is his manners, is thrown away as a huckster. He's a born shopman and he'll be nearer his parents, which will be a comfort. Yes, there's dilapidations, Jacob--I see your eyes roaming round; but nothing to name; and when Margery was here backalong, she granted I'd took very good care of the garden."

"Where are you going to live?" he asked.

"Over the shop. It's smaller than this nice house, of course, and no beautiful garden. We can't expect that; but it's in a good part of Brent as you know, and but two minutes from the post-office."

Jacob grunted.

"Jeremy's thrown away the best chance he's ever likely to get."

"I hope not. He's not much of an open air man really--specially in winter. His gifts shine indoors. And he was wondering if you'd want the hoss and trap back, as unfortunately we've never been able to pay for 'em, or whether you'd be so exceeding brotherly and generous as to let him have them still--for the green-grocery. Of course it would be a godsend if you could; and, if all goes so well as we expect, he ought to be able to pay you back with interest in a year I shouldn't wonder."

"You're hopeful," said Jacob. "A good thing that he married a hopeful pattern of woman."

"And every right to hope," she answered. "Jeremy's no common man. If he was a shopwalker in a big business, he'd be worth thousands to it. In fact he's one of those who are likely to be worth a lot more to somebody else than himself."

"As long as you're satisfied, Jane---"

"Well satisfied," she said.

He looked at the baby--a boy.

"Teach your little one to know his own mind; and don't let him be brought up like a feather in a gale of wind."

"If he's half the man his father is, there'll be no call to quarrel with him," said Jane. "He's going to be like his father outwardly, and his grandmother sees the promise of character already."

"You'll be close to her at Brent, my dear."

Jane was cautious.

"We shall--parlous close; and as an 'in-law' to Mrs. Huxam, Jacob, same as me, you go in a bit of fear, too, no doubt?"

"Not I."

"Well, you're older and powerfuller than me, of course. But she's got a weak spot, which you haven't found out and I have. Jeremy's her weak spot, thank God. She sees what a man he really is under his bad luck, and he'll never go scat really--not while she's above ground. She feels to Jeremy same as Mr. Huxam feels to your wife. And I dare say you've gained by that sometimes."

"I didn't know that Barlow Huxam is specially set on Margery," he answered.

"Oh, yes, he is," said Jane. "So they're both safe, and both will be snug sooner or late. Of course that don't matter to a rich man like you; but it's a comforting thought for me. Those the Lord loveth, He chasteneth--so Mrs. Huxam says; but anybody can weather a few storms if he knows he'll be safe in port sooner or late."

With this nautical simile, Jacob left Jane to continue her packing. And then, as he turned his horse's head for home, a sudden whim took him and--why he could not have explained to himself--he decided to go to Brent and look upon the fair. Thinking back in years to come, he dated a very perceptible increase of his soul's sickness from that day. It was a disease of an intermittent sort, masked sometimes by circumstance, drugged sometimes by the passage of events; but fitfully it progressed, punctuated by incidents; and from the day of the Pony Fair, it always seemed to the man that his ailment grew, until it blotted clean thinking and, by its progress, so weakened reason that the end came before its time, but not before he was sapped and riddled with the poison. He knew also, that but for the act of chance and the hazards of his well-protected life, the venom might have remained immune within his nature for ever. But the accidents of existence offered a seed bed, and the thing increased until a climax inexorable swept away the foundations of his ordered days and left him to the challenge of the ruins.

Cloud banks already ascended over the horizon southerly as the sun sank upon Ugborough Beacon; but weather could not now defeat the day, or lessen its triumph. A very successful fair had rewarded local effort. Prices were good and the ponies brought a harvest to their owners. Crowds wandered over the enclosures, and the last competition, for driving hacks, was in progress at four of the afternoon. Jeremy and his father were watching it, with Avis and Robert Elvin, who had sold his stock to satisfy himself. Then the boy and girl drifted away together and Robert entertained her at various stalls, where sweetmeats and trumpery were being sold. They listened to Cheap Jack, and presently Robert invited Avis to have her fortune told by a green-and-yellow parrokeet. He paid sixpence out of five shillings of his private savings, and an Italian woman set her little bird about its task. It plucked a grubby card, and Avis learned she would marry a dark, handsome man with plenty of money.

"I hope that will come true," said Robert.

"Now see your luck," urged Avis; but Bob was not going to spend another sixpence in this fashion.

"Your luck might be mine," he murmured, and Avis, who thought well of the youth, made no comment. She was sixteen now and Robert eighteen.

Sammy Winter stood, a grotesque and gloomy figure, thrusting up between 'Turk' and another bull. He wore a blue rosette in his hat; but it represented the second prize and gave Sammy no pleasure whatever. He protested and growled to all who would listen; and if looks could have slain 'Turk's' conqueror, the monster must swiftly have perished.

'Turk' was lying down and chewing the cud, indifferent to his moderate honours; while his guardian talked to Billy Marydrew and explained the iniquity of the decision.

"Never mind, my dear," said Billy. "Us can't all be first. Your turn next. 'Turk's' young yet. He'll have plenty more chances, but the winner's past his prime."

Mr. Marydrew wore a little flag in his buttonhole and a little worsted and wire monkey stuck in the brim of his hat. Thus he echoed the spirit of the hour and ambled cheerfully about with a friend or two.

John Henry and his brother had studied the sheep and cattle and watched the competitions. Then they joined other boys at a shooting gallery and presently drifted to a boxing booth, where John Henry was invited to spar with a lean, curly-headed Dago, but declined.

Auna kept close to her mother, who found many acquaintance at the fair. On the occasions of entertainments, she had grown to be glad if her husband happened to be out of the way; for she knew that he was happier so, and her own pleasure, without his restraint, became greater. She felt self-conscious before other people with Jacob beside her, but struck a more unrestrained and joyous note when he was not there.

They had met Adam Winter at a steam 'round-about,' where wooden horses revolved to the blare of an organ. Here he was spending pennies for the entertainment of some young people and invited Auna to mount, which she gladly did. Then, as an afterthought, he urged Margery to take a steed and did the same himself. Auna, her pleasure much increased by this arrangement, held her mother's hand as the horses whirled round, while Winter, sitting on the steed behind them, tickled Auna's ear with a peacock's feather. The light began to grow dusky, but the liveliness by no means abated. People crowded now round the dancers, now at the wild beast show, now among the 'Aunt Sallys' and swings.

Upon this scene Jacob descended from above, and, over the upper edge of the field, was able to see much from his uplifted position on horseback, though, since his head was but little higher than the hedge, none observed him looking through it. He was about to ride to the entrance, when he observed the big 'round-about' within thirty yards of him. Thus he saw Margery and Auna, watched Auna helped on to a wooden horse and then marked Margery and Adam Winter enter upon their juvenile amusement with other adults. He saw them circle, observed the rare jollity and high spirits of his wife, the evident pleasure of the man. Then the folly of intruding upon that crowd of cheerful spirits weighed him down and he turned and rode off. He carried away only the memory of Margery's happiness. She was laughing as she never laughed at home; she was chattering to Adam and her face was flushed. And Winter rode behind her, as though she belonged to him, while he played with Auna. Who was the master of Shipley to do such things? Bullstone's bias swiftly exaggerated the spectacle that his eyes had chronicled, and the essential virus in his own imagination soon poured out to leaven all. He saw Jeremy ahead as he trotted home, but Jacob entered a gate and took a way through fields and a plantation, to avoid his brother-in-law and everybody else. He did not wish it to be known, or reported again, that he had been in sight of the fair. As for Jeremy, he had borrowed a few shillings from his father and was now returning to Jane and his infant son with futile fairings.

Before he reached Shipley, Jacob wrestled with his reason concerning what he had seen; but he could not dismiss the vision, and he told himself that it was impossible to determine the gravity of the situation until the end of that day. He troubled himself as usual by dwelling on details. He wondered what would have happened had Auna not been there. Then, perhaps, instead of tickling the child with a peacock's feather, Winter might have dared to touch Margery.... So the poison flowed. He tried to block his mind once or twice, but it was useless. He could not get away from what his eyes had seen; he kept returning to every childish detail. Then he fought to put all behind him until his family returned. Upon what Margery might choose to reveal of the day's doings much would hang: so he assured himself. He desired the night and their home-coming. But they would not be back until late, for it was understood that they supped with the Huxams and stopped for the fireworks destined to end that day.

The fireworks tortured him again. Who would be watching the fireworks with Margery? Time dragged unspeakably. It seemed to him that his wife had been gone for an age. At nine o'clock he walked out as far as Shipley Bridge to meet them. Would Winter accompany them? Would they have offered him a place in the Red House trap? They could not, unless the boys walked home. Otherwise there would be no room.

Darkness had descended and the autumn stars shone, for the threat of rain had passed for a while at sunset. He debated whether it would be worse to find that Winter had driven home with his family, or had not done so. It was certain that, to such a mood, whichever course Adam might take would present the graver anxiety.

He loitered, waiting for the sound of wheels while night thickened, the stars disappeared, at last fine rain began to fall. A heavy fish splashed in the river, and then he heard, far off on the hither hill, shouts and roystering laughter clear through the stillness. He knew that it was Josh Peatheyjohns back from the fair, taking leave of Billy Marydrew. He wondered what his old friend had made of his day, how much whiskey he had drunk and how the morning would find him. Then a trotting horse came briskly down the lane to the bridge and he heard his children's laughter.

Would it stop and drop Winter, or no? He could only see the vague mass of the cart and the yellow ray it shot from a lamp into the mist. It did not stop, but went forward over the bridge, then turned to the right for Red House. All his family were there no doubt with John Henry driving. He hastened homeward arguing against himself.

At home he found a merry party chattering in the kitchen, and was invited to see the fairings and hear of the day's fun. Peter had gone to put the horse up and John Henry told his father of those who had won the prizes and how the sales had gone. Margery declared the fair was a great success and all considered it better than for ten years past. Avis showed gifts from Robert Elvin and told how well he had sold his lambs. Auna cuddled to Jacob on a great settle by the fire. She was very sleepy, but had to exhibit a peacock's feather.

"Mr. Winter gave it to me, father," she said.

The plume brought back the 'round-about' and, acting on impulse, Jacob took the feather and thrust it into the fire.

"Unlucky," he said. "We won't have a peacock's feather in this house, whoever gave it to you, my precious."

There was silence and Auna gazed, round-eyed.

She never questioned her father. His word was wisdom on every subject; and though he had often rated his boys for repeating ancient superstitions and laughed them out of the old folk-lore, she did not remember that.

"Mr. Winter didn't ought to have given it to me if it's unlucky," she said.

Margery felt the cloud, that had lifted for some good hours, limning heavily about her. She knew Jacob's excuse was nonsense, but she did not guess the reason for his act and, unseen, resented it.

"To bed, to bed!" she cried. "Be off, Auna, and you, Avis. Our chatter won't interest father."

Peter returned, asked after a suffering dog or two, heard that they mended and then retired with John Henry. Margery's maid was returning on foot. Barton Gill had gone to bed.

Jacob hung some of the damp coats to the fire and threw on a turf or two.

"You've enjoyed yourself?" he asked.

"Yes--we've had a merry day. I'm sorry Auna took that feather, but I couldn't well refuse to let the kind man give it to her. I didn't know you were superstitious and I'm sure Adam Winter didn't. We live and learn, don't we?"

He waited for her to speak on, but she prepared to go to bed.

"Tell me about your adventures," he said slowly.

"No adventures--just a fair and all the fun of the fair. The usual thing--all very noisy and merry and a good deal that was silly I expect; but it takes you out of yourself, and you see a lot of people happy and forgetting their troubles for a minute. That's something."

"What did you do?"

"What didn't I do? Played about like a girl. Avis spent her time with Bob Elvin. I think Master Bob has lost his heart in that quarter. He's old for his age. John Henry was all for the stock and the machines, and Peter poked about on his own. We had a very nice holiday dinner with father and mother and, after it, father came to the fair, but mother stopped in the shop and let Miss Reed, from the post-office, go off duty. Then Jeremy turned up and we all played about. I took the children into the wild beast show, then they went their ways again--all but Auna. She kept with me and we went riding on a 'round-about.' Yes, I did, and Irm afraid I thought how vexed you'd have been if you'd seen me."

"Why?"

"Oh--not dignified and all that. But it was the spirit of the fun. Auna loved it. Lots of grown-up people rode."

"And when did Winter give Auna that feather?"

Margery laughed.

"Lord, my dear, you ought to have been a lawyer. How do I know? He was there--everybody was there but you--and we met him. His bull 'Turk' only got a second, and poor Samuel was cruel vexed about it. We shall have to look after Avis and Bob. Did you see his father? He told me that Joe was no worse--just a bed-lier for evermore, poor chap."

Jacob's mind was far from Mr. Elvin. He felt that Margery should have told him she had ridden on the steam horses with Adam Winter. He had given her opportunity and she doubtless remembered the incident very well. But she was not going to tell him. And it was equally certain that he would never tell her he had seen her. His mind sickened, then, conscious of her question and ignorant that three minutes had passed since she put it, he answered.

"Yes, I saw Joseph Elvin. He is taking his misfortunes in a pretty poor-spirited fashion and seems to think to escape them and pass into peace is an evil. He pecks at death with his long nose, like an angry bird in a cage. I told him death was no great matter for them that died, only for them that are left behind; but he says in his case, if he's got to go, it will be a very unfair and unrighteous thing and contrary to justice. As if he was the first that had suffered from injustice!"

"He's not dead yet, however."

"No; only living death. He'd hoped to retire and have a few years of ease, before the end, so he's very angry it isn't to be."

"Poor chap. It is hard. Bob's much set on carrying on. Should you think he could do it, with his mother and the head man?"

"Yes, I think he could. I think very well of him."

"But his father must reign while he lives of course."

"Of course. No need to tell me that."

They talked in desultory fashion for ten minutes longer, then their servant appeared and Jacob locked up and put out the lamps.

He did not immediately follow his wife to bed, but strode up and down the kitchen deep in thought. Once or twice a dog barked from the kennels and he stood to listen. Then he tramped up and down again for a little longer. He had no wish to speak any more and did not go upstairs until he knew Margery would be asleep.

At last, as the clock chimed midnight, he took off his boots and leggings and ascended to his chamber. He listened at his children's doors. The boys, who slept together, were still talking and he looked in and told them to go to sleep. The girls also slept together and he entered and listened. Both slumbered. He bent over Auna's bed and kissed her; but he did not go to the larger bed wherein Avis lay.