“For,” as Old Faithful went on, “see you, I am not afraid of snow, having been with Babar the brave (on whom be peace) when he marched from Herat to Kabul and was nigh lost on the Great Zirrin pass.”

Little Akbar, who was playing at cat’s cradle with his sister, looked up eagerly.  “Was Grand-dad ever in the snow?  ’Cos if he was, he’s quite sure to help us, for he ate all our sweeties, didn’t he, Bija?”

The little girl shook her head and put her finger to her lip, in warning to him not to give away their secret; but Head-nurse was sharp.

“Ohe,” said she, “so that was it!  Listen, Foster-father! these babes set the platter for Firdoos Gita Makani—­on whom be peace!  Is not that good omen for us all?”

“Mayhap!” said Foster-father, clearing his throat cautiously, “and my heart is comforted also by the presence of Faithful, who was with the great king in his battle with snow and ice.”

The Heir-to-Empire dropped his cat’s cradle and went over to the old trooper and stood before him with grave, questioning eyes.

“Is it so, slave?  Were you with Grand-dad in the snow?”

“Most-Honourable!  I was,” replied the old man boastfully, “and I remember as if ’twas yesterday——­”

“Tell us the tale, trooper,” interrupted Head-nurse. “’Twill hearten us all up ere we sleep, since there is naught else to be done.”

“That will I, mother,” replied Old Faithful with alacrity, “and in the very words of my revered master as written in that book of books, his Memoirs, which doubtless the most Learned-of-the-Universe will read some day.”

Mirak, who was back at his cat’s cradle, looked up with grave superiority.

“Nay, slave!  They shall read it to Akbar.  He will be King.”

“Hark to him!” ejaculated Foster-mother, delighted.  “His words are all fortunate.”

“We have need of more fortune by works, not words, woman,” said Foster-father sternly.  “So proceed, friend Faithful; the recitation of brave deeds can never come amiss.”

Old Faithful settled himself by the fire and began.  “First you must know that Firdoos Gita Makani, or Babar the brave, had to get back to Kabul, because wicked men were waiting to be punished.  Now, it was winter time, and none dreamed of travelling over the passes at that season.  But Firdoos Gita Makani was not one to hold back when a thing had to be done.  So we started, and this is what happened, in his own words: 

“From the time we left Herat it snowed incessantly; the farther we advanced the deeper it became.  After three days it reached above the stirrups.  In places the horses’ feet did not reach the ground; yet the snow continued to fall.  One Bishai was our guide.  I do not know whether it was from old age, or from his heart failing him, but having once lost the road, he never could find it again; so, as it was not to be found with all our exertions, we were brought to a complete stand.  Seeing no