“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.” 135

“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, 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.”