"Dat's me!" she cried. "Look straight at me, an' ye see yer queen. An' how you dar', you misribble Hop-grog, to say I no queen! You 'serve to be killed. Take hole o' him, some uv you fellers! Grab dat Hop-grog!"
At this, two or three men seized the poor Hof-rath, while the crowd cheered and laughed.
"Take him an' kill him!" shouted Priscilla. "Chop his head off!"
At this, a wild shout of laughter arose, and one of the men who held the Hof-rath declared, as soon as he got his breath, that they couldn't do that,—they had no hatchet big enough.
Priscilla stood quiet for a minute. She looked over the crowd, and then she looked at the poor Hof-rath, who now began to show that he was a little frightened.
"You, Hop-grog," said she, "how much money did you grab in dem scrahmbles?"
The Hof-rath put his hand in his pocket and pulled out some pennies.
"Five big coppers," said he, sullenly.
"Gim me dem," said she, and he brought them to her.
"Now den, you kin git out," said she, pocketing the money. Then she again raised her crown and replaced it on her head.