for their supper, the little Prince and Princess, greatly excited at the novelty of their surroundings, wandered out into the dark square enclosure, where fires burned here and there in the open, lit by travellers who were cooking their evening meal.  They stood by these watching what was going on with quick interest, answering questions that were put to them with frank smiles and laughter.  Being dressed in heavy sheepskin outer coats to keep out the cold, no one guessed that they were other than they seemed, poor travellers’ children, until at the end of a long row of picketed horses at the further end of the courtyard, Akbar saw Horse-chestnut, Foster-father’s pony.  Now Foster-father had only had time to tie the poor beast head and heel, so there the honest creature stood, looking very dejected, with emptiness before it, while the troopers’ horses beside him were enjoying great bundles of green grass.  The little fellow flushed up in a moment; he called loudly to a man who stood near: 

“Ho! slave there! bring my pony grass—­dost hear? and be quick!”

The man laughed.  “Alah!” he said; “whose son be you to give orders that fashion?”

“Whose son?” echoed the child passionately.  “I am——­”

But Bija clung to his arm.  “H’st, Mirak!” she whispered.  “Remember what Head-nurse said that we were not to tell——­”

Akbar stood irresolute; he was wise beyond his years.  “But Horse-chestnut must not be hungry.  I won’t have it!—­he shall have grass,” he said angrily; then, without another word he walked up to the next horse, took a great armful of the grass that lay in front of it and scattered it before his favourite.

“So there! slave!” he cried defiantly with a stamp of his foot.

The man looked at him curiously, said nothing, but went over to some others and began to whisper.

A minute afterwards, Foster-father returning, found the children the centre of a little crowd eager in enquiry whence they came, whither they were going, and, ere he could get them safely to their quarters, the attention of the Captain of the Escort had been arrested, he came out frowning and fuming.

“We march again in an hour,” he said angrily to Foster-father.  “On thy head be it if thou can’st not keep thy young fighting cock in order—­’twill be all over the town by midnight!”

Foster-father did not often let his temper get the better of his prudence, but he could not resist saying mildly:  “Kingship is like the musk-bag, friend, that was broken at the royal child’s birth.  It diffuses its perfume over the habitable world, and none can mistake it.”

The Captain of the Escort shrugged his shoulders.  “Then it shall smell in the wilderness, friend; for I run no risks of rescue this side the passes.  So bid the women give the young crowing cockerel his supper and prepare to start again.  There will be a moon in another hour and we can push on.  Meanwhile I go to warn the other folk where to rejoin us.”