But they reckoned without a great white fluff which after a time showed itself at the entry to the charcoal bunker, yawning and stretching and blinking its eyes.  Head-nurse had been quite wrong in saying Down’s kitten must be black in that hole!  Its mother, anyhow, was beautifully white, perhaps because Down was a sensible cat and had only chosen the charcoal bunker because she had found a lot of old straw and a blanket tucked away in its farther corner.  Besides, as she only had one kitten, she could spend all her time in licking it and cleaning it with her rough, red tongue, after the manner of cats.  Anyhow, there it lay, right out of reach of any one, a little bundle of white fluff, and Down was just beginning to feel that there were other things in the world besides kittens.  For instance, was that scratching on the roof, think you, a mouse?  If so—?  She passed to the fire.  It was warm and nice; just the very place for a kitten’s first look at the world, and there were no troublesome people about; not but what she was anxious to show her kitten to Baby Akbar.  But who knew if horrid Head-nurse might not try to catch it?  But Head-nurse was asleep.  Down whisked her tail, disappeared through the archway, and reappeared again gingerly, carrying the kitten in her mouth.  It sprawled in the firelight and mewed piteously.  And there was that scratching on the roof again ... really, kittens were a bore when one wanted to mouse....

So far it is easy to follow Down’s thoughts.  What came next is more difficult.  No one can say whether the cat had really any notion that danger to her young master was abroad, or whether she only wanted to show him her kitten, or whether she wanted it taken care of—­for Persian cats, if they kill a rat at night, have often been known to jump on their master’s bed and insist on his taking custody of their prize lest it should somehow come to life again if they left it alone—­only this was certain, Baby Akbar woke with a rough, red tongue licking his nose, and there, on the quilt, was Down beside the fluffiest, darlingest little kitten that ever was!

He made a grab at it with his little fat hands.  Whether this frightened its anxious mother or whether Down really had a purpose in view, who can say?  Only this is sure:  she was off the bed in a second, Miss Kitten in her mouth.  A minute afterward Baby Akbar was off it also with a little crow of delight.  But the drugged nurses did not stir; they were away in the Land of Dreams.  And hark! what was that curious noise outside the window, as if something was slipping down the wall?  Perhaps it was that that frightened Down once more; for just as Baby Akbar’s hand reached out to lay hold of the kitten, which she had set down by the fire, Down snatched it up again and was off with it back to the charcoal bunker, with Baby Akbar after her, his face full of solemn resolve.  He meant to play with that kitty.

And play with her he did.  At least, after he disappeared down the archway by the fireplace he did not come out again.  Only Down reappeared and seated herself at the entrance, her ears cocked, her eyes fixed on the window.