CHAPTER XXVI.
‘I leant my back into an aik,
I thought it was a trusty tree;
But first it bowed and syne it brak,
Sae my true love did lightly me.
‘Oh, waly, waly—gin love be bonny
A little time while it is new;
But when it’s auld, it waxeth cauld,
And fades away like morning dew.’
It was the anniversary of Twelfth-night, and the feast of the Bean was in act of celebration with great glee and splendour when the English Minister and his companion entered the reception-rooms of the Palace. This favourite pastime, borrowed from the Court of France, has come down to us in modern days under the form of ‘drawing for king and queen;’ the bean was concealed in the twelfth cake, and the dame to whose share it fell was chosen with much mock solemnity as queen of the night. On the present occasion the lot had fallen to Mary Beton, and her indulgent mistress, with that playful good-humour which so endeared her to her attendants, had insisted on decking the leader of the revels with the most splendid attire her own royal wardrobe contained.