ends, was put in
a corner and covered with a worn satin quilt. This must do for a throne.
And a strip of red muslin wound about the little gold-embroidered skull
cap Baby Akbar wore must, with the heron's plume from his father's
state turban, make a monarch of the child.

In truth he looked very dignified indeed, standing on the mule trunk,
his little legs very wide apart, his little crimson silk trousers very
baggy, his little green brocade waistcoat buttoned tight over his little
fat body, and, trailing from his shoulders in great stiff folds, his
father's state cloth-of-gold coatee embroidered with seed pearls.

So, as he always wore great gold bracelets on his little fat arms, and
great gold jingling anklets fringing his little fat feet, he looked very
royal indeed. Very royal and large and calm, for he was a grave baby
with big, dark, piercing eyes and a decided chin.

"He is as like his grandfather as two splits of a pea!" cried Head-nurse
in rapture, and then she went to the tent door and shrilled out:

"Slaves! Quick! Come and perform your lowly salute on the occasion of
the cutting of a back tooth belonging to the Heir-to-Empire, the
Most----"

She cut short her string of titles, for a crash of thunder overhead
warned her she had best be speedy before the rain soaked through the
worn tent.

"Quick, slaves!" she added; "keep us not waiting all day. Enter and
prostrate yourselves on the ground with due reverence! Quick! Quick!"

She need not have been in such a hurry, for it did not take long for the
"slaves," as she called them, to perform their lowly salaam by touching
the very ground with their foreheads. There were but three of them--Old
Faithful, the trooper; Roy, the Rajput boy; and Meroo, the scullion; the
rest were away with their master, King Humayon.

Old Faithful, however, tall, lank, grey-bearded, brought enough devotion
for half a dozen followers. He had served with little Akbar's
grandfather, Babar the brave, and when he saw the child standing so fair
and square, he gave almost a sharp cry of remembrance and delight. And
when he stood up after his prostration, in soldier fashion he held out
the hilt of his old sword for the baby to touch in token that its
service was accepted. Queen Humeeda, who stood beside her little son,
guided his fat fingers to the sword; but at the very moment a vivid
flash of lightning made her give a shriek and cover her face with her
hands. But little Prince Akbar