It was repeated
by the others with more or less exaggeration, to the point of one
humorist losing his balance!
"Oh, thank you very much," said Polly timidly, but drawing her little
flock closer to her with a small protecting arm; "but could you--would
you--please--tell us--what time it is?"
"We are approaching the middle of Next Week," said the leader gravely;
"but what of that? Time is made for slaves! The Red Rover seeks it not!
Why should the Queen?"
"I think we must be going," hesitated Polly, yet by no means displeased
with the recognition of her rank.
"Not until we have paid homage to Your Majesty," returned the leader.
"What ho! there! Let Brother Step-and-Fetch-It pass the Queen around
that we may do her honor." Observing that Polly shrank slightly back,
he added: "Fear nothing; the man who hurts a hair of Her Majesty's head
dies by this hand. Ah! ha!"
The others all said ha! ha! and danced alternately on one leg and then
on the other, but always with the same dark resemblance to Christy
Minstrels. Brother Step-and-Fetch-It, whose very long beard had a
confusing suggestion of being a part of the leader's buffalo robe,
lifted her gently in his arms and carried her to the Red Rovers in turn.
Pages:
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35