h you to the hills," he would say to his
father. "Why didn't you bring her back with you? I want to see her."

Then King Humayon would laugh--for he was always merry--and bid his
little son be patient. His mother would come with the spring. At present
she was in Persia, but so soon as the passes were open she would start
for Kabul. And then there would be fun! Whereupon little Prince Akbar
would smile a dignified smile, and say, _of course_ there would be fun!

Now out of this arose a plan which came into King Humayon's head, as so
many other plans came, without very much thought; for he was full of
kindly, not over-wise fancies. And this one was that little Prince Akbar
should choose his own mother!

It would be rather a hard task for a child who had not seen her for two
years and a half, and who was but a baby of less than eighteen months
old when he had parted from her! But Humayon was convinced that _his_
son would remember; and anyway, even if he did not, no harm would be
done and it would be very amusing. So orders were given for a huge
entertainment in the Arta Gardens just outside Kabul. They were the most
beautiful gardens, not close cropped and orderly like English gardens,
but with wide, bare, marble-paved walks and squares, big marble-stepped
tanks full of waterlilies, all set in tangles of widespread roses and
jasmine and gardenia. And here Humayon's fancy set up a Mystic Palace of
three Houses: The House of Pleasure; The House of Fortune, and the House
of Power. Never was such a beautiful Palace. By day it shone with the
reflected light of thousands and thousands of looking-glasses, by night
it rose outlined in every detail by thousands and thousands of little
lamps. Every marble path was spread with priceless silken carpets, the
very fountains were scented with attar-of-rose. All the musicians and
dancers and acrobats and jugglers of Kabul were commanded to be there,
snow came from the higher hills to ice the drinks, and cooks worked day
and night to prepare the most wonderful dishes.

"That is what I call a King," remarked the Afghan sentry, whom Roy,
going with his little master to see the preparations, found keeping
guard at the gate. "None of your skinflints like Kumran. Aye!" he
continued, seeing Roy's look of surprise and distaste, "I have done what
I said I would--fought for Kumran till there was no more fighting to be
done. And now, like His Gracious Majesty King Humayon, I am enjoying
myself.