Imagination -- Juvenile fiction; Play -- Juvenile fiction
[Illustration]
A roar of laughter followed, in which even the leader apparently
forgot himself enough to join. But the next moment springing to his
feet, he shouted, "Ho! ho! A traitor! Away with him to the deepest
dungeon beneath the castle moat!"
Hickory and Patsey began to whimper. But Polly, albeit with a
tremulous lip, stepped to the side of her little Pagan friend.
"Don't you dare to touch him," she said, with a shake of unexpected
determination in her little curly head; "if you do, I'll tell my
father, and he will slay you! All of you--there!"
"Your father! Then you are _not_ the Queen!"
It was a sore struggle to Polly to abdicate her royal position, it
was harder to do it with befitting dignity. To evade the direct
question she was obliged to abandon her defiant attitude. "If you
please, Sir," she said, hurriedly, with an increasing colour and no
stops, "we're not always pirates, you know, and Wan Lee is only our
boy what brushes my shoes in the morning, and runs of errands, and
he doesn't mean anything bad, Sir, and we'd like to take him back
home with us."
"Enough," said the leader, changing his entire manner with the most
sudden and shameless inconsistency. "You shall go back together, and
woe betide the miscreant who would prevent it. What say you
brothers? What shall be his fate who dares to separate our noble
Queen from her faithful Chinese henchman?"
"He shall die!" roared the others, with beaming cheerfulness.
"And what say you--shall we see them home?"
"We will!" roared the others.
[Illustration]
Before the children could fairly comprehend what had passed, they
were again lifted into the truck and began to glide back into the
tunnel they had just quitted. But not again in darkness and silence;
the entire band of Red Rovers accompanied them, illuminating the
dark passage with the candles they had snatched from the walls. In a
few moments they were at the entrance again. The great world lay
beyond them once more with rocks and valleys suffused by the rosy
light of the setting sun. The past seemed like a dream.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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