"I don't know what's come over me," she went on very confidentially, as she moved beside him through the scullery door, "but--but I don't feel satisfied--not satisfied with meself as I used to be." "No, Bridget?" It was in his best "7:30" manner. There was a struggle in him. "No," said Mrs. Horton, with decision. "I give satisfaction--that I know--" "We both do that," said Thompson proudly. "And no one can do a suet pudding to a turn as you can. Only the other day I heard Sir William a-speaking of it--" She held his arm more tightly. They were on the lawn by now. The flood of sunlight caught them, showed up the worn and shabby places in his suit of broadcloth, gleamed on her bursting shoes she "fancied" for her kitchen work. They heard the birds, they smelt the flowers, the air bathed them all over like a sea. "And the silver, Alfred," she said in a lower tone. "Who in the world can make it look as you do? But what I've been feeling lately--since this morning, that is to say--and feeling for the first time in me life, so to speak--" "Bridget, dear, you've got it!" he interrupted with excitement, "I've felt it too. Felt it this morning first, when I woke up and remembered that nobody wanted hot-water nor early tea, and I said to myself, 'There's more than that in it. I'm not doing all this just only for a salary. I'm doing it for something else. What is it?'" He spoke very rapidly for a butler. He looked down at her red and smiling face. "What is it?" he repeated, curiously moved. She looked up at him without a word. "It's something 'idden," he said, after a pause. "That's what it is." "That's it," agreed Mrs. Horton. "Like a recipe." There was another pause. The butler broke it. They stood together in the middle of the field, flowers and birds and sunshine all about them. "A mystery--inside of us," he said, "I think--" "Yes, Alfred," the cook murmured softly. "_I_ think," he continued, "it's a song and dance we want. A little life." He broke off abruptly, noticing the sudden movement of her bursting shoes. She took a long step forwards, then sideways. She opened her arms to the air and sun. She almost pirouetted. "Life!" she cried, "'ot and fiery. Life! That's it. Hark, Alfred, d'ye hear that singing far away?" She felt the Irish break out of her. "Listen!" she cried, trying to drag him faster. "Listen, will ye? It makes me wild entirely! Give me yer hand! Come on and dance wid me! It's in me hearrt I feel it, in me blood. To the devil with me suet puddings and shepherd-poies--that singing's real, that's loife, that's lovely as a dhream! It's what I've been looking for iver since I can remember. I've got it!" And Thompson felt himself spinning through the air. 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.