All his life he had never done
anything but his ordinary duty.
"It's 'oliday time," said Weeden, coming next, "and all my flowers and
vegitubles is a-growin' nicely." He too seemed singing, dancing.
Something had happened. The whole world seemed out and playing.
Thompson forgot himself in a most unusual way, forgot that he was an
old family servant, that the apron-string met round his middle with
difficulty, that the Authorities were away and his responsibilities
increased thereby; forgot too, that for twenty years he had been
answering bells, over-hearing conversations without pretending to do
so, and that visitors wanted hot water and early tea at "7:30 sharp."
He remembered suddenly that he was a man--and that he was very fond of
some one. The birds were singing, the sun was shining, the flowers
were out upon the lawn, and it was Spring.
An amazing longing in him woke and stirred to life. There was a
singular itching in his feet. Something in his butler-heart began to
purr. "Looking, eh!" he thought. "There's something I've been looking
for too. I'd forgot about it."
"No one can make the silver shine as I can," he mumbled, watching the
retreating figures, "but it is about finished now,"--he glanced down
at it with pride--"and fit to set on the table.
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