Why shouldn't I take a
turn in the garden too?"
He looked out a moment. The magic of the spring came upon him suddenly
like a revelation. He knew he was alive, that there was something he
wanted somewhere, something real and satisfying--if only he could find
it--find out what it was. For twenty years he had been living
automatically. Alfred Thompson suddenly felt free and careless. The
butler--yearned!
He hesitated, gave the dish-cover an extra polish, then called through
the door to Mrs. Horton:
"There's a tramp in the garden, Bridget, and Mr. Weeden's with him.
Mr. Felix is halso taking the air, and Master Tim--"
He stopped, hearing a step in the pantry. Mrs. Horton stood behind him
with a shawl about her shoulders. Her red face was smiling.
"Alfred, let's go out and take a look," she said. "Mary can see to the
shepherd's-pie. I've been as quick as I could," she added, as if
excusing herself. Moreover, she said distinctly, "shepherd's-_poie_."
"_I_ haven't been 'calling,'" replied the butler, "except only just
now--just this minute." He spoke as though he was being scolded for
not answering a bell.
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