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.