"I'm only a poor little singing girl
That wanders to and fro,
Yet many have heard me with hearts awhirl;
At least they tell me so!
At least—"
she chanted, leaning with gay insolence toward Ten Euyck,
"At least they tell me so!"
"Christina!" he said hoarsely.
"You like personal ditties! You shall have another!
"You dressed me up in scarlet red
And used me very kindly—
But still I thought my heart would break
For the boy I left behind me!
That's too rowdy a song for a patrician! But I can sing only very simple things! The one I always think of when I think of you is the simplest of all!—
"We twa hae run about the braes
And pu'd the gowans fine;
But we've wandered many a weary foot
Sin auld lang syne."
The color rose up in her face and her eyes shone; her bosom rose and fell in long, triumphing breaths, and—"Damn him!" Ten Euyck cried. "It's not me you think of when you sing that! It's Denny!"
"For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne—