new. It was Foster-mother who, waking first, let loose a shriek while
still half awake. This roused Head-nurse, who let loose another. For
Baby Akbar was no longer between them. The Heir-to-Empire had gone--had
disappeared--was not to be found!

Roy was out of the tent in a second, treading in his haste on Meroo, who
was sleeping outside, and who began to howl confusedly. Old Faithful
fumbled for his sword, Foster-father rubbed his eyes as if _they_ must
be at fault.

But there was no Baby! And what is more, both the black dog and the
white cat had disappeared also; at least they were no longer on the
watch.

Never was there such a commotion. The rocks resounded with cries and
every one searched everywhere; even in the great tall basket panniers in
which hill shepherds carry their goods and chattels.

But not one sign of the little fellow was to be found, until--horribly,
dreadfully, near to that awful birch-twig bridge--Foster-mother seized
on a tiny gold-embroidered skull cap that was lying on the grass.

"It is his!" she sobbed, "it is my darling's! He hath tried to get to
the mountains to his Amma, and he hath fallen from that accursed cats'
cradle. He is dead! He is killed!"

Every face, except the shepherds', who did not, of course, understand
what was said, turned pale. It was indeed possible, perhaps probable,
that the faithful little soul, who remembered when others forgot, had
tried----

It was a terrible thought. But the shepherds, seeing the cap, at once
whistled to their dog, and the one who spoke Persian explained that if
it were shown the cap it would take up the track of the child at once.

But though they whistled and whistled no dog came.

Then the shepherds began to look grave and mutter among themselves.

"What are they saying? What gibberish are they talking?" shrilled poor
Head-nurse, trying to keep hope alive by being angry. The man who spoke
Persian looked at her cheerfully.

"Only that perhaps the dog has eaten the child. We keep it hungry that
it may chase the wild animals."

This was too much for the womankind. They simply rent the air with
heartbroken sobs.

But Foster-father, grave and silent, would not give up hope. Every foot
of the ravine must be searched, first downwards, as, had the child
really fallen into the stream it must have been carried with it. Then as
a last forlorn hope upwards. So, peering down carefully from either
side, they traced the ravine till, gradually