Prince Akbar, were flying for their lives before their enemies. And
these enemies were led by Humâyon's own brothers, Prince Kumran, Askurry
and Hindal. It is a long story, and a sad story, too, how Humâyon, so
brave, so clever, so courteous, fell into misfortune by his own fault,
and had to fly from his beautiful palaces at Delhi and wander for years,
pursued like a hare, amid the sandy deserts and pathless plains of
Western India. And now, as a last resource, his followers dwindled to a
mere handful, he was making a desperate effort to escape over the
Persian border and claim protection at the hands of Persia's King.

So the poor tent was ragged and out at elbows, for all that it was made
of costly Kashmir shawls, and that its poles were silver-gilt.

But Head-nurse's "Thanks be to God!" came from a full heart.

"What is it? What _is_ it?" called an anxious voice from behind the
curtain which divided the tent in two.

"What?" echoed Head-nurse in high glee. "Only this: His Imperial
Highness, Prince Akbar, the Admired-of-the-World, the Source-of-Dignity,
the Most-Magnificent-Person-of-the-Period--" She went on, after her
wont, rolling out all the titles that belonged of right to the little
Prince, until the soft, anxious voice lost patience and called again,
"Have done--have done; what is it? Heaven save he hath not been in
danger."

Head-nurse, stopped in her flow of fine words, sniffed contemptuously.
"Danger! with me to guard him? No! 'Tis that the High-in-Pomp hath cut
his first real back tooth! He can eat meat! He has come to man's estate!
He is no longer dependent upon milk diet." Here she gave a withering