the pretended messenger from the
palace with the platter of delicacies. Even the sentry below was
sleeping sound after his share of kid curry.

Thus, those who were on the roof waiting until the moon had set and they
could without fear of discovery lower the young lad, who was to steal
Baby Akbar, down to the window (through which, being slender, the thief
could slip easily), felt that their task was almost done.

But they reckoned without a great white fluff which after a time showed
itself at the entry to the charcoal bunker, yawning and stretching and
blinking its eyes. Head-nurse had been quite wrong in saying Down's
kitten must be black in that hole! Its mother, anyhow, was beautifully
white, perhaps because Down was a sensible cat and had only chosen the
charcoal bunker because she had found a lot of old straw and a blanket
tucked away in its farther corner. Besides, as she only had one kitten,
she could spend all her time in licking it and cleaning it with her
rough, red tongue, after the manner of cats. Anyhow, there it lay, right
out of reach of any one, a little bundle of white fluff, and Down was
just beginning to feel that there were other things in the world besides
kittens. For instance, was that scratching on the roof, think you, a
mouse? If so--? She passed to the fire. It was warm and nice; just the
very place for a kitten's first look at the world, and there were no
troublesome people about; not but what she was anxious to show her
kitten to Baby Akbar. But who knew if horrid Head-nurse might not try to
catch it? But Head-nurse was asleep. Down whisked her tail, disappeared
through the archway, and reappeared again gingerly, carrying the kitten
in her mouth. It sprawled in the firelight and mewed piteously. And
there was that scratching on the roof again ... really, kittens were a
bore when one wanted to mouse....

So far it is easy to follow Down's thoughts. What came next is more
difficult. No one can say whether the cat had _really_ any notion that
danger to her young master was abroad, or whether she only wanted to
show him her kitten, or whether she wanted it taken care of--for Persian
cats, if they kill a rat at night, have often been known to jump on
their master's bed and insist on his taking custody of their prize lest
it should somehow come to life again if they left it alone--only this
was certain, Baby Akbar woke with a rough, red tongue licking his nose,
and there, on the quilt, was Dow