Chapter 3

LOVE VENTURES IN

Man's life is all a mist, and in the dark
Our fortunes meet us.

John had been thinking about building his own home for some time and he
resolved to begin it at once. Yet this ancient Hatton Hall, with its
large, low rooms, its latticed windows and beautifully carved and
polished oak panelings, was very dear to him. Every room was full of
stories of Cavaliers and Puritans. The early followers of George Fox had
there found secret shelter and hospitality. John Wesley had preached in
its great dining-room, and Charles Wesley filled all its spaces and
corridors with the lyrical cry of his wonderful hymns. There were
harmless ghosts in its silent chambers, or walking in the pale moonlight
up the stairs or about the flower garden. No one was afraid of them;
they only gave a tender and romantic character to the surroundings. If
Mrs. Hatton felt them in a room, she curtsied and softly withdrew, and
John, on more than one occasion, had asked, "Why depart, dear ghosts?
There is room enough for us all in the old house."

But for all this, and all that, it did not answer the spirit of John's
nature and daily life. He was essentially a man of his century. He loved
large proportions and abundance of light and fresh air, and he dreamed
of a home of palatial dimensions with white Ionic pillars and wide
balconies and large rooms made sunny by windows tall enough for men of
his stature to use as doors if they so desired. It was to be white as
snow, with the Ash plantation behind it and gardens all around and the
river washing their outskirts and telling him as he sat in the
evenings--with Jane at his side--where it had come from and what it had
seen and heard during the day.

He went to sleep in this visionary house and did not awaken until the
sun was high up and hurrying men and women to work. So he rose quickly,
for he counted himself among this working-class, felt his
responsibilities, and began to reckon with the difficulties he had to
meet and the appointments he could not decline. He had promised to see
his overseer at half-past nine, and he knew Jonathan would have a few
disagreeable words ready, if he broke his promise--words it was better
to avoid than to notice or discount.

At half-past eight he was ready to ride to the mill. His gig was
waiting, but he chose his saddle horse, because the creature so lovingly
neighed and neighed to the sound of his approaching footsteps, evidently
rejoicing to see him, and pawing the ground with his impatience to feel
him in the saddle. John could not resist the invitation. He sent the
uncaring gig away, laid his arm across Bendigo's neck, and his cheek
against Bendigo's cheek. Then he whispered a few words in his ear and