rcoal bunker?" he suggested, and the faces round him lit up.
But the lad's remained sullen, as he wiped the blood from Down's
scratches.

"Mayhap," he said. "_But I go not near that cat again!_"

So, as no one else was small enough to slip through the narrow slits of
windows, the conspirators could only curse their bad luck.

Thus it came to pass that the hours passed by without further attempt at
baby-theft, while Foster-father snored and Head-nurse dreamed the most
heavenly dreams of wonderful court ceremonials, and all the others were
wrapped in the profoundest slumbers.

But they all woke at last, and once more there was the most terrible
hullabaloo until Foster-mother recollected the kitten in the charcoal
bunker. Whereupon every one in turn flattened themselves on the floor
and reached in, and Roy actually got his head and one shoulder in; but
no one could feel anything or find out how big it was or anything about
it. Whereupon the two women began mutual recriminations and the men
stood helpless, when suddenly Down appeared with the kitten in her
mouth, and Baby Akbar, who had evidently been comfortably asleep on the
blanket amid the straw, came crawling after his new pet.

"So far so good!" said Foster-father, who, noticing a fallen piece of
mortar at the window-sill, had been carefully examining certain signs
and scratches both without and within, "but if I be not much mistaken,
some one hath been through here this night. And that we were all drugged
ye must know if the inside of your mouths be like mine! So we have to
thank Heaven and the cat for an escape!"

And so they had, though it was a sore trial once more to the women to
have nothing but guesswork to go upon.

"I wish I knew," murmured poor Foster-mother mournfully, as she watched
Baby Akbar, and Down, and the kitten, and Tumbu, all playing together
before the fire.

But once more Baby Akbar was silent, and Down told nobody--unless it was
Tumbu. Perhaps he _did_ know, because he allowed Down's kitten to play
with his tail!

CHAPTER IX

SPRING

Winter passed to spring and spring to early summer, and yet no certain
news came of King Humayon or Queen Humeeda. Foster-father almost gave up
hope, yet he said little, though he took counsel with Old Faithful, and
he in his turn consulted the old mountain chief, who at the assemblage
had been the first to cry, "Long live the Heir-to-Empire."

But the old man shook his head. The times were n