“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?”