flat at their Highnesses' feet, talking indistinctly into the marble floor.

The little Highness was much pleasanter to look at than his father. He had large dark eyes and soft light-brown cheeks, and he was all dressed in pink satin, with a little jewelled cap, and his long black hair tied up in a hard knot at the back of his neck. The little Highness looked at Sonny Sahib curiously, and then tugged at his father's sleeve.

'Let him come with me now, immediately,' said the little Maharajah; 'he has a face of gold.'

The Maharajah sat down, not in his chair—he did not greatly like sitting in his chair—but on the carpet.

'Whence do you come?' said he to Tooni.

'Protector of the poor, from Rubbulgurh.'

'Where your Highness sent to for us,' added Sonny Sahib. 'Tooni, why do you pinch me?'

His Highness looked disconcerted for a moment. As a matter of fact he had known all that Tooni or Sonny Sahib could tell him about themselves for three years, but he considered it more dignified to appear as if he knew nothing.

'This is a child of the mlechas,' said the Maharajah, which was not a very polite way of saying that he was English.

'Protector of the poor, yes.'

'Account to me for him. How old is he?'

'Seven years, great King.'

'And two months, Tooni-ji. Your Highness, may I sit down?'

'As old as the Folly.'[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 irritably, while the little prince's face fell.

'Your Highness,' stammered Tooni, 'it is great riches—may roses be to your mouth! But I have a desire—rather than the money—'

'What is your desire?' cried the little prince. 'Say it. In a breath my father will allow it. I want the gold-faced one to come and play.'

The Maharajah nodded, and this time Tooni lay down at the feet of the little prince.

'It is,' said she, 'that—I am a widow and old—that I also may live in the farthest corner within the courtyard walls, with the boy.'

The Maharajah slipped the bag quickly into the pocket of his blue and yellow coat.

'It is a strange preference,' he said, 'but the Mussulmans have no minds. It may be.'

Tooni kissed his feet, and Sonny Sahib nodded approval at him. Somehow, Sonny Sahib never could be taught good Rajput manners.

'The boy is well grown,' said the Maharajah, turning upon his heel. 'What is his name?'

'Protector of the poor,' answered Tooni, quivering with delight, 'his name is Sonny Sahib.'

Perhaps nobody has told you why the English are called Sahibs in India. It is because they rule there.

The Maharajah's face went all into a pucker of angry wrinkles, and his eyes shone like little coals.

'What talk is that?' he said angrily. 'His great-grandfather was a monkey! There is only one master here. Pig's daughter, his name is Sunni!'

Tooni did not dare to say a word, and even the little prince was silent.

'Look you,' said the old man to Sonny Sahib. 'Follow my son, the Maharajah, into the courtyard, and there do his pleasure. Do you understand? FOLLOW him!'

CHAPTER V

'Sunni,' said Moti, as the two boys rode through the gates of the courtyard a year later, 'a man of your race has come here, and my father has permitted him to remain. My father has given him the old empty jail to live in, behind the monkey temple. They say many curious things are in his house. Let us ride past it.'

In his whole life Sunni had never heard such an interesting piece of news before—even Tooni's, about the Maharajah's horseman, was nothing to this. 'Why is he come?' he asked, putting his little red Arab into a trot.

'To bring your gods to the Rajputs.'

'I have no gods,' declared Sunni. 'Kali is so ugly—I have no heart for her. Ganesh makes me laugh, with his elephant's head; and Tooni says that Allah is not my God.'

'Tooni says,' Sunni went on reflectively, 'that my God is in her little black book. But I have never seen him.'

Perhaps this Englishman will show him to you,' suggested Moti.

'But His Highness, your father, will he allow strange gods to be brought to the people?'

'No,' said Moti, 'the people will not look at them. Every one has been warned. But the stranger is to remain, that he may teach me English. I do not wish to learn English—or anything. It is always so hot when the pundit comes. But my father wishes it.'

A pundit is a wise old man who generally has a long white beard, and thinks nothing in the world is so enjoyable as Sanskrit or Arabic. Sunni, too, found it hot when the pundit came. But an English pundit—

'Moti-ji,' said Sunni, laying his arm around the little prince's neck as they rode together, 'do you love me?'

Moti caught Sunni's hand as it dropped over his shoulder. 'You know that in my heart there is only my father's face and yours, Sahib's son,' he said.

'Will you do one thing, then, for love of me?' asked Sunni eagerly. 'Will you ask of the Maharajah, your father, that I also may learn English from the stranger?'

'No,' said Moti mischievously, 'because it is already spoken, Sunni-ji. I said that I would not learn unless you also were compelled to learn, so that the time should not be lost between us. Now let us gallop very fast past the jail, lest the Englishman should think we wish to see him. He is to be brought to me to-morrow at sundown.'

The Englishman at that moment was unpacking his books and his bottles, and thinking about how he could best