Jackman wore a curious smile,
which Judy declared was "just the face she made the day Maria was
born"; Mrs. Horton left her kitchen and was seen upon the lawn
actually picking daisies; and even Thompson--well, when Tim and his
sister came upon him basking with a pipe against the laundry window,
wearing a discarded tweed coat of their father's, and looking "exactly
like the Pope asleep," he explained his position to Tim with the
extraordinary remark that "even the Servants' Hall 'as dreams," and
went on puffing his pipe precisely as before. But Weeden betrayed it
most. They knew by the smell--"per fumigated," as they called it--that
he was in the passages, watering the flowers or arranging new ones on
the window-sills, and when Tim said, "Seen any more water-rats to pot
at, Weeden?" the man just smiled and replied, "Good mornin', Master
Tim; it's Saturday."
The inflection of his tone was instantly noticed. "Oh, I say, Weeden,
how do you know? _Do_ tell me. I won't say a word, I promise." But the
Head Gardener kept his one eye--the other was of glass--upon the spout
of his watering-can, and answered in a voice that issued from his
boots--"Because to-morrow's Sunday, Master Tim, unless something
'appens to prevent it.
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