service was accepted. Queen Humeeda, who stood beside her little son,
guided his fat fingers to the sword; but at the very moment a vivid
flash of lightning made her give a shriek and cover her face with her
hands. But little Prince Akbar having got a hold of the hilt, would not
let go. And to Old Faithful's huge delight he pulled and pulled till the
sword came out of the scabbard.

"An omen! An omen!" cried the old man. "Like his grandfather, he will
fight battles ere he be twelve!"

Then there was Roy, the Râjput lad, whom the royal fugitives had found
half dead from sunstroke in the wide, sandy Râjputana deserts, and whom,
with their customary kindness, they had succoured and befriended,
putting him on as a sort of page boy to the little Heir-to-Empire. He
was a tall, slim lad for his twelve years, was Roy, with a small,
well-set head and a keen, well-cut face. And his eyes! They were like a
deer's--large, brown, soft, but with a flash in them at times.

For the sunstroke which had so nearly killed the lad had left his mind a
little confused. As yet he could remember nothing of what had happened
to him before it, and could not even recollect who he was, or anything
save that his name was Roy. But every now and again he would say
something or do something which would make those around him look
surprised, and wonder who he could have been to know such things and
have such manners.

After him came Meroo, the misshapen cook-boy. He was an odd fellow, all
long limbs and broad smiles, who, when his time arrived, shambled
forward, cast himself in lowliest reverence full length on the ground
and blubbered out his delight--now that the princely baby could really