"You know it, Polly; I heard you singing it yesterday."
(The soldiers were coming up the avenue.)
"The royal tiger will be there,
The ring-tailed monkey
And the polar bear;
The royal tiger will be there," etc.
"I'll cross my heart, I dunno it. I natchelly 'spize babies, ennyhow. If I wuz er blue-gum nigger, I'd bite 'em," said Polly, showing her teeth viciously.
"Well, then," said Roberta in desperation, "I'll give you my red sash that you think so pretty; I will indeed."
That did the work; Polly's love of finery was intense. She began to sing in a surly tone, that straightened out as visions suggested by the song flitted before her. The circus was her delight.
If the soldiers, in passing, noticed the incongruous lullaby, they made no comment. Possibly, they were not family men.
They went through the house; pushed their bayonets in the mattresses, lifted them up and looked underneath; searched every nook and corner below stairs, then tramped up. Roberta called to Polly:
"Is the baby asleep, Polly?"
"No; yes. Lawdy, Lawdy! I'ze gwiner drap it, sho'; it's sliden'."