eat--at being able to supply all sorts of toothsome stews full of onions
and green ginger, to say nothing of watermelons and sugar cane. These
things, strange to say, being to little Indian children very much what
chocolate creams and toffee are to English ones.

So far all had gone well, and now there only remained one more salute to
be made. But little Adam, who was Head-nurse's own son, and who had
hitherto been Baby Akbar's playmate, refused absolutely to do as he was
bid. He was a short, sturdy boy of five, and nothing would induce him to
go down on his knees and touch the ground with his forehead. In vain
Meroo, the cook-boy, promised him sweets if he would only obey orders;
in vain Old Faithful spoke of a ride on his old war-horse, and Roy, who
was a most wonderful story-teller, promised him the best of all,
Bopuluchi. In vain his mother, losing patience at such a terrible piece
of indecorum, rushed at him and cuffed him soundly. He only howled and
kicked.

And then suddenly Baby Akbar, who had been listening with a solemn face,
brought his little bare foot down on the mule trunk with such a stamp
that the golden anklets jingled and jangled, and his little forefinger
went up over his head in the real Eastern attitude of royal command.

"Salute, slave, salute," he said with a tremendous dignity. And there
was something so comical about the little mite of a child, something so
masterful in the tiny figure, something so commanding in the loud,
deep-toned baby voice, that every one laughed, and somehow or other Adam
forgot his obstinacy and made his obeisance like a good boy.

And then once more pretty Queen Humeeda hugged and kissed her little
son, and all the rest applauded him, and made so much of him that he