"Well, I never!" exclaimed Harriet when she had recovered from the first shock of surprise at seeing Kate. "If I'd known sooner I might have been some help. My husband is laying the cloth."
"Splendid!" answered Kate, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Now, Bob, you can help us with the trays."
Bob led the way with a large tray on which were a cold ham and a platter of sliced cold chicken. Kate carried the omelette and a "sweet" she had made at the last minute of fried bread and strawberry jam. Mrs. Merle brought up the rear with the dish of fried potatoes and a jar of potted shrimps.
Horatio had just finished setting the table when the procession of three entered the dining room. His back was turned. He was making a last round, massaging with gentle finger tips the few remaining wrinkles in the white cloth.
In an instantaneous conspiracy of silence they watched him as he slowly circumnavigated the snow and crystal continent. Arrived at the antipodes, Horatio looked up quietly and met the eyes in the doorway. As they looked at him a change came over his face. He stood very straight, looking almost tall. It was happening, the miracle he had prayed for!
"For I have given you an example that ye should do as I have done to you."
Perhaps they didn't know it. Perhaps they thought it was all a joke. But he knew better. It was part of the Great Design, just as the departure of the frightened servants were part of the same Design.
Here they came, laughing, joking, but all lending a hand, all serving. Some one was crying: "Hooray for the new butler! Speech! Speech!" It was Lionel Fitz-Brown. Returning from a ramble on the moor at the last minute, he had seen what was up, and, not wishing to be out of it, had dashed into the kitchen garden and returned, the flushed and joyous bearer of an egregious lettuce on a lordly dish.
All tongues were loosed now as they followed each other into the dining room and deposited their viands on the table.
There was a sudden hush. All were seated but Harriet and Horatio. Harriet went quickly to her accustomed place and sat down. Only the Reverend Horatio Merle remained standing. The curate had always said grace at Ipping House, sounding forth the stereotyped words with a certain glib solemnity as if he was repeating a worn out social formula. Now on his lowered face there was a deep reverence, and his clasped hands were joined in real supplication.