elf in the same camp again. Foster-father was for
riding the bay mare himself and giving sober Horse-chestnut to the
Heir-to-Empire, but Head-nurse would not hear of this. The bay mare was,
she said, altogether more royal. So there she was, with Baby Akbar
astride a cushion in front, perched on the skittish creature, feeling at
heart very nervous, for she was but a poor rider. However, she held on
very tight with one hand, held Baby Akbar still tighter with the other,
and trusted to Providence, while Roy and Meroo ran beside her on either
side, alternately holding up the Royal Umbrella as best they could.

Foster-mother on a mule, with little Adam perched in front of her
brought up the rear of the procession. It was a poor one for progress
even along the levels, because of the bay mare's fidgeting and
caperings, but when the steep hill sides were reached it became
impossible to keep up with the rest of the equipage. So Prince Askurry
and his men pushed on ahead leaving the little party alone, since escape
was impossible on that wild mountain road, especially with the rear
guard of the camp coming a few miles behind them. And, indeed, if such
an idea had entered the heads of any of the party it must soon have fled
before the difficulty of getting along at all. It was a steep zig-zag
path, and looking upwards you could see it zigging and zagging right
away to the sky line. Poor Foster-mother, who came last, could not take
her eyes off it, for the bends immediately above her were filled with
the most terrifying sights. First her stout husband, who seemed to be in
the act of slipping over Horse-chestnut's tail. On the next Old
Faithful, driven to dismounting and laboriously lugging Lightning up by
the bridle. But the last zig-zag in front of her called forth piercing
shrieks. For the bay mare, not having been ridden for some time, was
full of beans. Baby Akbar insisted on holding the reins, and Meroo,
whose turn it was to hold the umbrella, _would_ slip and slither among
the stones, thereby bringing its fringe right on the bay mare's nose.

"Oh! Head-nurse, have a care! The blessed child!" shrieked poor
Foster-mother as a more than usually bad stumble sent the umbrella on to
the mare's tail.

This was too much for it. Frightened out of its senses, it gave a
frenzied bound forwards, then rearing straight up, hung over the edge of
the path, as if it meant to take a downward plunge.

All seemed lost! Foster-father and Faith