As they reached the hall, the Major caught them in
his arms and soundly kissed them. "It isn't Christmas every day, you know,"
he lamented ruefully, "and even our friend Mr. Addison wasn't steeled
against rosy cheeks, though he was but a poor creature who hadn't been to
Virginia. But come to the fire, come to the fire. There's eggnog to your
liking, Mr. Bill, and just a sip of this, Miss Lydia, to warm you up. You
may defy the wind, ma'am, with a single sip of my apple toddy." He seized
the poker and, while Congo brought the glasses, prodded the giant log until
the flames leaped, roaring, up the chimney and the wainscoting glowed deep
red.
"What, not a drop, Miss Lydia?" he cried, in aggrieved tones, when he
turned his back upon the fire.
Miss Lydia shook her head, blushing as she untied her "fascinator." She was
fond of apple toddy, but she regarded the taste as an indelicate one, and
would as soon have admitted, before gentlemen, a liking for cabbage.
"Don't drink it, dear," she whispered to Betty, as the girl took her glass;
"it will give you a vulgar colour."
Betty turned upon her the smile of beaming affection with which she always
regarded her family. She was standing under the mistletoe in her light blue
cloak and hood bordered with swan's-down, and her eyes shone like lamps in
the bright pallor of her face.
"Why, it is delicious!" she said, with the pretty effusion the old man
loved. "It is better than my eggnog, isn't it, papa?"
"If anything can be better than your eggnog, my dear," replied the
Governor, courteously, "it is the Major's apple toddy.
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