CHAPTER X
AFTER THE HOLIDAY
Chance is half-sister to destiny, and though her patterns appear less orbicular and complete, yet seen in the fulness of their weaving, from a standpoint sufficiently detached, they are often as inexorable and consummate. As Jeremy built designs with his apples and oranges; as Jacob built the ideal Bullstone terrier, working year after year with canine flesh and blood to attain the ideal; so chance, operating upon his temperament, defied its own slight name and wrought, with personal intention as it seemed, rather than unconscious accident, for a definite object. Chance appeared to exercise a malign ingenuity in finding substance. It was as though an initial incident had opened the eyes of Moira, weaver of destinies, and upon that trivial circumstance, she had elected to build the edifice of Jacob's life, choosing only one fatal material for the fabric, to the exclusion of others that might as reasonably have been selected.
The new year began; then, after a pause, wherein progress proceeded so slowly that Bullstone was not aware of movement, a quickening period followed. Thus he had always advanced—by jolts and thrusts forward—never smoothly. But remission did not blunt the raw edges of incomplete work; they were always ready to receive the next addition, when reinforcement came to the ghostly builders.
With another summer, Margery's annual holiday to Plymouth returned. It was Auna's year to accompany her mother, and when both were gone to Mr. Lawrence Pulleyblank, Jacob speculated as to whether his wife, or his youngest child left the larger gap in his life. He examined the problem and decided that no comparison could be instituted, since each represented a different plane of existence and a different field of emotional interest. But though unable to pursue the problem through any rational argument, to solve it was easy enough. His own soul told him that he missed Auna more than her mother; because Auna was far nearer what Margery had been when first he loved her, but could be no longer. Bullstone shared the usual rooted conviction of the married, that their partners have mightily altered during the years of united life. He assured himself that his own foundations were exactly as of yore, and that still he stood for the same ideals and purposes. It was Margery who had changed; Margery who had been blown away from the old anchorage in his heart and now sailed other seas. But in Auna he believed that he saw again exactly what his wife had been; in Auna he perceived growing all that had made him fall in love with Margery. Thus now he lived the more happily in her companionship. She was close to him and she loved him with devotion; but his wife did not. She had gone afield. He knew not how far off she had really wandered, but believed that the gap between them continued to lengthen as the years passed; that her outlines grew dimmer; that less and less she shared his days, more and more pursued her own, where he possessed neither will nor power to follow. And she had reached to a similar opinion concerning him.
Margery and Auna had been away a week, and Auna had already sent her father two letters full of her adventures. Then Jacob happened to be with Barton Gill, who was now reduced to milking the goats and doing other tasks within his waning activity. For the present Avis, free of school and not desirous to learn more that school could teach her, was exalted to kennel-maid, a part she filled with enthusiasm.
Gill was grumbling as usual and expressing revolutionary doubts concerning goats' milk for puppies. Peter had already dared to question its supreme value and Barton, who thought highly of Peter's knowledge and personally disliked the flock, began to wonder if the later wisdom might not discover a substitute. Jacob, however, would not hear of any change.
"Time you stopped altogether and took your ease, Barton, if you're going to put Peter's opinions higher than your own experience," he said. "Goats' milk was the first and best food for puppies long before my boy, Peter, came into the world; and it will continue to be long after he goes out of it, theories or no theories. The modern idea is to get the old, fine results all round, with half the old, hard work; and, such a fool is man, that he believes it can be done."
Then came Sammy Winter along the river path beside the kennels. He peered in, tried the iron door and finding it locked, shouted to Jacob, who stood within the yard. At his noise a dozen dogs barked and Bullstone admitted him.
"Evening, Samuel. And how is it with you?" he asked. "Haven't seen you this longful time."
"I be very nicely indeed," answered Sammy, "but our sheep-dog ban't; and I should be most thankful if you would come over, or else Gill, and look at his paw. He's drove something into it—a hob-nail I dare say; but he won't let me look, and he yowls and shows his teeth if I offer for to touch him."