"BretHarte-TheQueenOfThePirateIsle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harte Bret)

which, as I have before stated, was somewhat confusingly maternal.

"Go to bed instantly without your supper," she said seriously.
"Really, I never saw such bad pirates. Say your prayers, and see
that you're up early to church tomorrow."

It should be explained that in deference to Polly's proficiency as
a preacher, and probably as a relief to their uneasy consciences,
Divine Service had always been held on the Island. But Wan Lee
continued:--

"Me no shabbee Pilat INSIDE housee; me shabbee Pilat OUTSIDE
housee. S'pose you lun away longside Chinee boy--Chinee boy make
you Pilat."

Hickory softly scratched his leg; while a broad, bashful smile
almost closed his small eyes. "Wot?" he asked.

"Mebbe you too flightened to lun away. Melican boy's papa heap
lickee."

This last infamous suggestion fired the corsair's blood. "Dy'ar
think we daresen't?" said Hickory desperately, but with an uneasy
glance at Polly. "I'll show yer to-morrow."

The entrance of Polly's mother at this moment put an end to Polly's
authority and dispersed the pirate band, but left Wan Lee's
proposal and Hickory's rash acceptance ringing in the ears of the
Pirate Queen. That evening she was unusually silent. She would
have taken Bridget, her nurse, into her confidence, but this would
have involved a long explanation of her own feelings, from which,
like all imaginative children, she shrank. She, however, made
preparation for the proposed flight by settling in her mind which
of her two dolls she would take. A wooden creature with easy-going
knees and movable hair seemed to be more fit for hard service and
any indiscriminate scalping that might turn up hereafter. At
supper, she timidly asked a question of Bridget. "Did ye ever hear
the loikes uv that, ma'am?" said the Irish handmaid with affectionate
pride. "Shure the darlint's head is filled noight and day with
ancient history. She's after asking me now if Queens ever run
away!" To Polly's remorseful confusion here her good father,
equally proud of her precocious interest and his own knowledge, at
once interfered with an unintelligible account of the abdication of
various queens in history until Polly's head ached again. Well
meant as it was, it only settled in the child's mind that she must
keep the awful secret to herself and that no one could understand
her.

The eventful day dawned without any unusual sign of importance. It
was one of the cloudless summer days of the Californian foothills,