its
sympathetic expression and puckered up into one of misery and despair.

"Yes, I had," he said, with a groan; "all about it. Here," he cried
passionately, "I won't be treated like a schoolboy! I am a prince and a
chief, and the belt was mine. It's gone, and I won't be bullied about
it by any one."

"Not even by your guardian, eh?"

"Not even by my guardian," cried the boy haughtily. "If Colonel Severn
says anything to me about it I shall tell him I won't hear another word,
and that he is to go to the best jeweller in London and order another
exactly like the one that has been stolen."

"Of course," said Glyn solemnly. "It'll be as easy as kissing your
hand, and they'll know at once how to engrave the emeralds with the old
Sanskrit inscription, and make the belt of the same kind of leather, so
beautifully soft, dull, and yellow; and there are plenty of people in
London who can do that Indian embroidery."

Singh nodded his head shortly.

"Bah! You jolly old Tom Noodle!" continued Glyn; "why, even if they
could get as big emeralds and manage somehow to have the exact words of
the inscription cut, would it be the same old belt and stones as came
down from the past, and that your father used to wear?"

Singh's eyes dilated and his lips parted.

"No," he said with a groan. "Oh, Glynny, what a beast you are! And you
call yourself my friend!"

"Never," cried Glyn. "It was you said I was."

"Yes, and instead of helping me in my trouble, and saying a few words to
comfort me, you call me names."

"Yes, but I didn't call you a beast. Is it being a friend to hide the
truth from you and let you snuggle yourself up with a lot of sham?
Answer me this: would a fresh belt be anything more than an imitation?"

"No, I suppose not," groaned Singh. "I am a prince, and going to be
very rich some day, and rule over my people, with a little army of my
own, and elephants, and everything any one could wish for; but I am not
a bit clever, except at wicket-keeping. I haven't got half such a head
as you have, Glyn, and such a head as I have got is now all muddled and
full of what you may call it."

"Brains," said Glyn cynically.

"No, no; I don't mean that," said Singh piteously. "Don't tease me, old
chap; I am so miserable. I mean, my head's full of that stuff, I don't
remember what you call it--I mean what you have when you are very sorry
for something you have done."

"Misery?"

"No, no. Here, I remember--re