I want no more! Ha! Ha!"

Little Prince Akbar, who was standing by, turned on him sharply. "Thou
art a slave, fellow, and know nothing of Kingship. Roy and I do. In his
country Kings ride and shoot and play polo, and--and do things.
Besides," he added, "I want my mother."

"Your Highness will have to choose her then, so I hear," began the
sentry almost rudely, and Roy started to rebuke him, but Prince Akbar
was first.

"Of course I shall choose my own mother, slave. She is quite different,
you know, from any one else in the world. Isn't she, Roy?"

The Rajput lad passed his hand over his forehead. "Mine was, Most Noble!
I should know her again if I ever saw her, but I never shall."

"Say not that, boy," said the sentry, who, despite his roughness, had a
kind heart and was touched by the sorrow in Roy's voice. "I have an old
comrade down Suryamer way and I will speak to him of thee and see what
he says; then who knows but----"

Little Akbar interrupted him gravely. "It is as God chooses. Roy always
says that. Don't you, Roy?"

"By my word!" said the sentry, saluting, "you are a proper pair of
Kings."

There were to be three days festival. On the first, that of Pleasure,
everybody was to be dressed in white, on the second day of Power all
were to be in scarlet, and on the third, the day of Fortune, the day on
which little Prince Akbar was to choose his mother, every one was to
wear green. Head-nurse and Foster-mother spent all their time in
devising wonderful new designs for their darling's dresses, and Humayon
himself added many little fanciful touches, for he had a most wonderful
imagination, and this festival, which was to welcome his wife to Kabul
and give her back her little son, occupied all his thoughts.

The queen arrived on the first day, but, according to custom, in a
closed litter, and she went straight to the secluded balcony arranged
for the royal ladies, whence she could see without being seen. So she
had the advantage of her little son, who, in a magnificent costume of
white and silver, looked such a darling that Queen Humeeda longed to hug
him.

"Has my Amma-_jan_ come?" whispered the little Prince to his father, "is
she up there behind the lattice of roses?"

"Yea! she is there sure enough, little rogue," laughed Humayon. "So give
a good look right through the flowers."

"No!" said little Akbar, "I've got to shut my eyes; then I can see her
with my other eyes."

But his father was too bus