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.