Old families were
forgotten. The world was young with laughter. They could fly. They
did.
The silver was beautifully cleaned. He had earned his holiday.
"That singing!" he gasped, feeling his heart grow big. He followed her
across the flowered world. "I believe it is a bird! It would not
surprise me to be told--"
"A birrd!" cried Mrs. Horton, turning him round and round. "It's a
birrd from Heaven then! I've heard it all the morning. It's been
singing in me heart for ages. Now it's out! Come follow it wid me!
We'll go to the end of the wurrld to foinde it."
Her kitchen energy--some called it temper--had discovered a greater
scope than puddings.
"There is no hurry," the butler panted, moving along with her, and
trying hard to keep his balance. "We'll look together. We'll find it!"
And as they raced across the field among the flowers after the line of
disappearing figures, the Tramp looked back at them and waved his
hand.
"It's a lovely morning," he said, as they came up with the rest of the
party. "So you're looking too?"
Too much out of breath to answer, they just nodded, and the group
accepted them without more to-do.
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