"This is dreadful!" said Corny. "She ought to give up this pepper-pod business right away. If I could only talk to her, I'd make her understand. But I must go get somebody for an interpreter."
And she ran off to one of the neighboring huts.
"If this thing works," said Rectus, "we ought to hire a regular interpreter."
"It wont do to have too many paid officials," said I, "but we'll see about that."
Corny soon returned with a pleasant-faced woman, who undertook to superintend our conversation with the queen.
"What's her name—to begin with?" asked Corny, of the woman.
"Her African name is Poqua-dilla, but here they call her Jane Henderson, when they talk of her. She knows that name, too. We all has to have English names."
"Well, we don't want any Jane Henderson," said Corny. "Poqua-dilla! that's a good name for a queen. But what we first want is to have her stop selling things at the front door. We'll do better for her than that."
"Is you goin' to sen' her to the 'sylum?" asked the woman.
"The asylum!" exclaimed Corny. "No, indeed! You'll see. She's to live here, but she's not to sell pepper-pods, or anything else."