And that new piece from the village ain't worth her salt's
far as work goes."
Poor Harkness had to recognize the truth of what Budge said. Since the
"gloom" things _had_ been going at sixes and sevens--inexperienced help
called up from the village to fill any need. He was not to be daunted,
however; there were the gardener and the undergardener and the chauffeur
and the stableman and they had wives who might be induced to put on
their Sunday clothes and join in the ceremonial--all in all, they could
make a fair showing.
Into the plans for the dinner Mrs. Budge threw herself with her whole
heart. There must be young turkey and cranberry sauce, and a tasty salad
and a good old New England pumpkin pie, which she would make herself,
and ice cream and little cakes with colored frosting--oh, Budge knew
what a boy liked.
And Harkness would brighten the great dark hall with bitter-sweet and
deck the gloomy rooms with flowers--he knew what was proper for the
coming of the heir of the House of Forsyth.
"Like as not," Budge said, "'twill be the end to this curse."
So the two old retainers, their hearts full of hope for a new happiness
over Gray Manor, labored until the old house shone and bloomed for the
coming of Gordon Forsyth.
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