Bingle,
who was sitting beside the stove with his back to the door, holding
Rosemary and Rutherford on his knees.
"Dinner is served, sir," said Diggs in his most formal, dignified
manner.
Mr. Bingle looked up, surprised by a voice that came resounding down
from the past. The children were already staring open-mouthed at
Diggs, who stood attired in his well-remembered dress-suit, the
imposing, self-contained figure of a butler of the most approved type.
"God bless my soul," gasped Mr. Bingle.
"Quite so, sir," said Diggs smoothly. He drew out Mr. Bingle's chair,
and the little man, completely dazed, sank abruptly into it. The
children found their places, chattering like magpies.
"Lest they forget," said Diggs, leaning over to speak softly in Mr.
Bingle's ear.
Then came Watson, in braid and buttons, stiff as a ramrod, chin high
in the air, and as supercilious as any footman in all the world,
carrying the soup. After a long, dry-eyed stare at the familiar figure
that had always seemed so unreal to him in the days when everything
belonged to fairyland, Mr.
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