“Oh yes. We always wait to see the Old Year out and the New Year in. Come, Mr. Hayes, it’s almost luncheon-time,” she added, glancing at her watch; and they turned back toward the house, which was just visible through the leafless trees. Harold walked at her side in silence. He had heard a ghost-story, but the words he had hoped to speak that day were still unuttered. Loud were the pleadings, when the little ones’ bedtime came, that they might be allowed to sit up to see the Old Year die; but Mrs. Connolly was inexorable. The very young ones were sent off to bed at their usual hour. Cards and music passed the time pleasantly till the clock was almost on the stroke of twelve. Then wine was brought in, and healths were drunk, and warm, cheerful wishes were uttered, invoking all the blessings that the New Year might have in store. Hands were clasped and kisses were exchanged. Harold would willingly have been included in this last ceremony, but that might not be. However, he could and did press Polly’s hand very warmly, and the earnestness of the wishes he breathed in her ear called a bright colour to her cheek. Then came good-night, and the young American’s heart grew strangely soft when he found himself included in Mrs. Connolly’s motherly blessing. He thought he had never seen a happier, a more united family. The party was breaking up; some had retired; others were standing, bedroom candlesticks in their hands, exchanging a last word, when suddenly, out of the silence of the night, the melodious notes of a huntsman’s horn echoed through the room. Harold recalled the legend, and paused at the door, mute and wondering. Jack and his father exchanged glances. “Now which of you’s tryin’ to humbug us this year?” asked the old man, laughing, while Jack looked round and proceeded, as he said, to “count noses.” This was a useless attempt, for half the party that had sat up to wait for the New Year had already disappeared. Dick sprang to the window and threw it open, but the night was cloudy and dark. Again came the notes of the horn, floating in through the open window, and almost at the same moment there was a sound of hoofs crunching the gravel of the drive as a dozen or more animals swept past at wild gallop. “This is past a joke,” cried Jack. “I never heard of the old hunt materializing in any such way as this.” They rushed to the front door--Jack, Mr. Connolly, all of them. Harold reached it first. Wrenching it open, he stood on the step, while the others crowded about him and peered out into the night. Only darkness, rendered mirker by the lights in the hall; and from the distance, fainter now, came the measured beat of the galloping hoofs.