ly.'[5]

[5] Native term for the Mutiny.

'He came of the Folly, Hazur. His mother died by the sepoys in
Cawnpore, his father--also,' said Tooni, for she feared to be
blamed for not having found Sonny Sahib's father. As she told the
story once again to the Maharajah, adding many things that Sonny
Sahib had never heard before, he became so much interested that he
stood on one foot for five minutes at a time, and quite forgot to
ask His Highness again if he might sit down.

The Maharajah heard her to the end without a word or a change of
expression. When she had finished, 'My soldiers were not there,'
he said thoughtfully, and with a shade of regret, which was not, I
fear, at the thought of any good they might have done. Then he
seemed to reflect, while Tooni stood before him with her hands
joined together at the finger-tips and her head bowed.

'Then, without permission, you brought this child of outcasts into
my State,' said he at last. 'That was an offence.'

Tooni struck her forehead with her hand.

'Your Highness is my father and my mother!' she sobbed, 'I could
not leave it to the jackals.'

'You are a wretched Mussulman, the daughter of cow-killers, and you
may have known no better--'

'Your Highness!' remarked Sonny Sahib, with respectful indignation,
'Adam had two sons, one was buried and one was burned--'

'Choop!' said the Maharajah crossly. You might almost guess that
'Choop' meant 'Be quiet!'

'But it was an offence,' he continued.

'Protector of the poor, I meant no harm.'

'That is true talk. And you shall receive no harm. But you must
leave the boy with me. I want him to play games with my son, to
amuse my son. For thirty days my son has asked this of me, and ten
days ago his mother died--so he must have it.'

Tooni salaamed humbly. 'If the boy finds favour in Your Highness's
eyes it is very good,' she said simply, and turned to go.

'Stop,' said the Maharajah. 'I will do justice in this matter. I
desire the boy, but I have brought his price. Where is it, Moti-ji?'

The little Maharajah laughed with delight, and drew from behind him
a jingling bag.

'It is one hundred and fifty rupees,' said the Maharajah. 'Give it
to the woman, Moti.' And the child held it out to her.

Tooni looked at the bag, and then at Sonny Sahib, salaamed and
hesitated. It was a provision for the rest of her life, as lives
go in Rajputana.

'Is it not enough!' asked the Maharajah irrit