glance at the gentle looking woman who was Baby Akbar's wet-nurse, who,
truth to tell, was looking just a little sad at the thought that her
nursling would soon leave her consoling arms.

"Heavens!" exclaimed the voice from within, "say you so?" And the next
instant the curtain parted, and there was Queen Humeeda, Baby Akbar's
mother, all smiling and eager.

Now, if you want to know what she was like, you must just think of your
own dearest dear mummie. At least that was what she seemed to little
Prince Akbar, who, at the sight of her, held out his little fat arms and
crowed, "Amma! Amma!" Now, this, you will observe, is only English
"Ma-Ma" arranged differently; from which you may guess that English and
Indian children are really very much alike.

And Queen Humeeda took the child and kissed him and hugged him just as
any English mother would have done. Head-nurse, however, was not a bit
satisfied with this display of affection. That would have been the
portion of any ordinary child, and Baby Akbar was more than that: he was
the heir apparent to the throne of India! If he had only been in the
palaces that belonged to him, instead of in a miserable tent, there
would have been ceremonials and festivities and fireworks over this
cutting of a tooth! Aye! _Certainly_ fireworks. But how could one keep
up court etiquette when royalty was flying for its life? Impossible!
Why, even her determination that, come what might, a royal umbrella must
be held over the blessed infant during their perilous journeys had very
nearly led to his being captured!

Despite this recollection, as she listened impatiently to the cooings
and gurglings, she turned over in her mind what she could do to