So, while the Count stood by the fire, and Paulina Mary still danced to and fro—happy in the liberty of the wide hall-like kitchen—Mrs. Bretton herself instructed Martha to spice and heat the wassail-bowl, and, pouring the draught into a Bretton flagon, it was served round, reaming hot, by means of a small silver vessel, which I recognised as Graham's christening-cup.
"Here's to Auld Lang Syne!" said the Count; holding the glancing cup on high. Then, looking at Mrs. Bretton:—
"We twa ha' paidlet i' the burn
Fra morning-sun till dine,
But seas between us braid ha' roared
Sin' auld lang syne.
"And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup,
As surely I'll be mine;
And we'll taste a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne."
"Scotch! Scotch!" cried Paulina; "papa is talking Scotch: and Scotch he is, partly. We are Home and De Bassompierre, Caledonian and Gallic."
"And is that a Scotch reel you are dancing,
