istening to the fierce voices just as he
had listened to the angry voices when Adam had refused to salute. And
now he saw some one before him who appeared to have no intention--as
Adam had no intention--of making his reverence; so, remembering the
fine thing he had done when the latter had been naughty, up went the
little hand again, and once more the loud, deep, baby voice said
imperiously:

"Salute! Slave! salute!"

The words were barely uttered when by pure chance Prince Askurry's foot
caught in the ragged carpet, and----?

And down he came flat as a pancake on the floor in the very lowliest
salute that ever was made!

The next moment, however, he sat up, half-stunned, and looked wrathfully
at his little nephew.

But Baby Akbar's honest open face was full of grieved sympathy.

"Poor, poor!" he said, shaking his quaintly crowned head, "tumbu down.
Nanna kiss it, make it well."

Prince Askurry sat stupidly staring for a moment or two. Then the memory
of many a childish hurt cured by like gracious offer from his father
came back to him, making his heart soft. He sprang to his feet and waved
by his councillors to cruelty.

"Go, my lords!" he cried fiercely. "Go seek the King who is no true King
if ye will, and kill him. But this boy goes with me to Kandahar; the
stuff of which he is made counts for life, not for death."

Then with a sudden generous impulse, for he was at heart his father's
son, he held the hilt of his drawn sword in token of vassalage for Baby
Akbar to touch.

And the child, clever, observant beyond his years, remembering how his
mother had guided his fingers to Old Faithful's weapon, put out his
little hand solemnly and touched it.

Behind their close-folded veils Head-nurse and Wet-nurse wept for joy.
And the old trooper's grip relaxed and the hard relentless look faded
from Roy's face.

For here was safety, for a while at any rate, for the Heir-to-Empire.

He, and Fate between them, had won his first victory. No! his second,
since the first had been the conquering of Adam's obstinacy.

But for that Baby Akbar might not have behaved with such dignity.

CHAPTER III

THE ROYAL UMBRELLA

That night even Roy the Rajput, who as a rule woke every hour to see to
his little master's safety, slept sound. And so did the others, though
they sat up till Foster-father crept in to the tent about midnight,
after having seen the Royal Fugitives safely over the Persian border. Of
course,