power, was anything but reassuring. "No, don't go!" Even Polly
(dropping a maternal tear on the bald head of Lady Mary) protested
against this breaking up of the little circle. "Go to bed," she
said, authoritatively, "and sleep until morning."

Thus admonished, the pirates again retired. This time effectively,
for worn by actual fatigue or soothed by the delicious coolness of
the cave, they gradually, one by one, succumbed to real slumber.
Polly withheld from joining them, by official and maternal
responsibility sat and blinked at them affectionately.

[Illustration]

Gradually she, too, felt herself yielding to the fascination and
mystery of the place and the solitude that encompassed her. Beyond
the pleasant shadows where she sat, she saw the great world of
mountain and valley through a dreamy haze that seemed to rise from
the depths below and occasionally hang before the cavern like a
veil. Long waves of spicy heat rolling up the mountain from the
valley brought her the smell of pine trees and bay and made the
landscape swim before her eyes. She could hear the far off cry of
teamsters on some unseen road; she could see the far off cloud of
dust following the mountain stage coach, whose rattling wheels she
could not hear. She felt very lonely, but was not quite afraid; she
felt very melancholy, but was not entirely sad. And she could have
easily awakened her sleeping companions if she wished.

[Illustration]

No! She was a lone widow with nine children, six of whom were