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“Welcome!” said the leader,–“welcome to the Pirates’ Cave! The Red Rover of the North Fork of the Stanislaus River salutes the Queen of the Pirate Isle!” He rose up and made an extraordinary bow. 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. Each one bestowed a kiss upon her cheek or forehead, and would have taken her in his arms, or on his knees, or otherwise lingered over his salute, but they were sternly restrained by their leader. When the solemn rite was concluded, Step-and-Fetch-It paid his own courtesy with an extra squeeze of the curly head, and deposited her again in the truck, a little frightened, a little astonished, but with a considerable accession to her dignity. Hickory and Patsey looked on with stupefied amazement. Wan Lee alone remained stolid and unimpressed, regarding the scene with calm and triangular eyes.

“Will Your Majesty see the Red Rovers dance?”

“No, if you please,” said Polly, with gentle seriousness.

“Will Your Majesty fire this barrel of gunpowder, or tap this breaker of grog?”

“No, I thank you.”

“Is there no command Your Majesty would lay upon us?”

“No, please,” said Polly, in a failing voice.

“Is there anything Your Majesty has lost? Think again! Will Your Majesty deign to cast your royal eyes on this?”

He drew from under his buffalo robe what seemed like a long tress of blond hair, and held it aloft. Polly instantly recognized the missing scalp of her hapless doll.

“If you please, sir, it’s Lady Mary’s. She’s lost it.”

“And lost it–Your Majesty–only to find something more precious. Would Your Majesty hear the story?”

A little alarmed, a little curious, a little self-anxious, and a little induced by the nudges and pinches of her companions, the Queen blushingly signified her royal assent.

“Enough. Bring refreshments. Will Your Majesty prefer wintergreen, peppermint, rose, or acidulated drops? Red or white? Or perhaps Your Majesty will let me recommend these bull’s-eyes,” said the leader, as a collection of sweets in a hat were suddenly produced from the barrel labeled “Gunpowder” and handed to the children.

“Listen,” he continued, in a silence broken only by the gentle sucking of bull’s-eyes. “Many years ago the old Red Rovers of these parts locked up all their treasures in a secret cavern in this mountain. They used spells and magic to keep it from being entered or found by anybody, for there was a certain mark upon it made by a peculiar rock that stuck out of it, which signified what there was below. Long afterwards, other Red Rovers who had heard of it came here and spent days and days trying to discover it, digging holes and blasting tunnels like this, but of no use! Sometimes they thought they discovered the magic marks in the peculiar rock that stuck out of it, but when they dug there they found no treasure. And why? Because there was a magic spell upon it. And what was that magic spell? Why, this! It could only be discovered by a person who could not possibly know that he or she had discovered it; who never could or would be able to enjoy it; who could never see it, never feel it, never, in fact, know anything at all about it! It wasn’t a dead man, it wasn’t an animal, it wasn’t a baby!”