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,

And surely I’ll be mine;

And we’ll taste a cup o’ kindness yet

For auld lang syne.”

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