you Highland fairy?" asked her father. "Mrs. Bretton, there will be a green ring growing up in the middle of your kitchen shortly. I would' not answer for her being quite cannie: she is a strange little mortal."
"Tell Lucy to dance with me, papa: there is Lucy Snowe."
Mr. Home (there was still quite as much about him of plain Mr. Home as of proud Count de Bassompierre) held his hand out to me, saying kindly, "he remembered me well; and, even had his own memory been less trustworthy, my name was so often on his daughter's lips, and he had listened to so many long tales about me, I should seem like an old acquaintance."
Every one now had tasted the wassail-cup except Paulina, whose pas de fée, ou de fantaisie, nobody thought of interrupting to offer so profanatory a draught; but she was not to be overlooked, nor baulked of her mortal privileges.
"Let me taste," said she to Graham, as he was putting the cup on the shelf of the dresser out of her reach.
Mrs. Bretton and Mr. Home were now engaged in conversation. Dr. John had not been unob-
