keep her fingers off the victor.  It was not fair, she would say afterwards, to match a baby of two with a child of six, and then she would try to hug the vanquished Heir-to-Empire and cover him with kisses; but Akbar, always independent, resented this.  “Akbar tumble him down some day,” he would say philosophically; and indeed there seemed every chance of it, for, mere baby as he was, there was more promise of future strength in his little finger than in Yakoob’s whole body.

Now, as winter came on, the children were driven indoors for their play, and Old Faithful at their earnest request, rigged up a swing in a large empty room in the palace, and here Princess Bija would be swung like the Seventy Maidens, until Prince Akbar wearied of swinging her; and knowing that nothing would induce his elder sister to tumble down like the princesses in the story, would say quite plaintively: 

“Please, Bija, get down; I’m tired of being Rasalu,” when the little maid would descend gracefully and they would play at something else.

But one day, just after the New Year, Prince Yakoob came to spend the day with his cousins, and the children fell to acting the adventures of Rajah Rasalu; Yakoob, as the guest, playing the hero’s part.

They got through several of them quite successfully, Princess Bija making a spirited carpenter’s lad and killing his dragon with great vigour, while the Heir-to-Empire, disguising his deep baby voice in a high squeak, doubled the parts of the seventy-nine maidens and the cricket.  So all went merry as a marriage bell until Rasalu had to order the giggling crew out of the swing.

Then, of course, Bija refused; whereupon Yakoob, a spoiled boy, cast aside the tinsel-covered wooden sword, and whipped out from his belt a toy dagger his father had given him that morning.  It was not very sharp, but very little cuts a taut rope, and one furious slash severed some of the strands, the weight of the two children did the rest, and there they were both on the marble floor!

And unfortunately the “pearl of pearls,” Rajah Rasalu’s bride, did not fall on top.  She fell underneath the Heir-to-Empire, and the Heir-to-Empire was heavy!  So there was her poor little lip all cut and her pretty little nose all bleeding.  Then two Head-nurses rushed in, and two Foster-mothers, and ever so many pairs of nursery attendants, each taking the part of their respective nurslings, and there was a terrible to-do, for, of course, one Head-nurse said it was the fault of the other Head-nurse, and so on.  In fact peace did not return until the party separated and the offender, Prince Yakoob, was being joggetted back to his mother by his excited attendants, while Princess Bija was having her swollen nose soothed by cold water.  She did not cry much, but she was terribly indignant with every one, including her brother.

He couldn’t have prevented his cousin from cutting the rope, of course, but he might have made his cousin’s nose bleed also!  If she hadn’t been otherwise occupied she could have done it herself; she was quite sure she could; or at any rate have done something quite as disagreeable!