And Foster-father, Foster-mother and Head-nurse were all there, the latter greatly subdued for the time, and in her gratitude to Roy inclined to give him some of the titles she was wont to bestow on little Prince Akbar.

For there was no doubt whatever that the lad was the rightful Rajah of Suryamer, whom wicked rebels had exposed in the desert to die, who had been found and kept alive by wandering goatherds and had finally been discovered when unconscious from sunstroke by the royal fugitives.

And out of this arose the only sadness of the happy May days when the little party once more journeyed out to Babar’s tomb towards evening to sit under the arghawan trees and watch the sunset.

Of course Dearest-Lady was not there, but all the others were assembled, and Down, the cat, purred as loud as ever, while Tumbu, the dog, frolicked round even more like a golliwog than before.  But it was not the absence of the Khanzada Khanum which made faces thoughtful at times.  She, they knew, was at rest, and they laid flowers for her beside those they gathered in memory of Firdoos Gita Makani—­on whom be peace!

No! it was the knowledge that Roy could not remain with them.  So soon as he was strong again he must go back to his mother, go back to a people who, tired of rebellion, were longing for their old rulers.

“You see, brother, I am a King,” said Roy sorrowfully, “and Kings cannot always do what they like.”

“Do you think they ever do, really?” asked the little Heir-to-Empire gravely, “for I don’t.”

And here we come to the end—­for a time at least—­of Prince Akbar’s adventures.

Now, if you want to know how much of this so-called veracious story is really true, I cannot quite say.

Did some one like Roy really tell the master fireworker that the Heir-to-Empire was hung over the battlements of the bastion?  If some one did not, how did the master-fireworker find it out?  And he did; indeed, in the history books he takes great credit to himself for having found it out.  But then he was a boaster.

Then did Dearest-Lady really bind Kumran by an oath not to harm the Heir-to-Empire until she returned?

If she did not, then why did she, an old, frail woman of seventy, go out into the wilderness just as winter was coming on, and why did not cruel Kumran kill the Heir-to-Empire when he had him in his power?

These are all questions; but what is certain is that Baby Akbar did go through all these adventures before he was five years old.

So good-bye, brave little lads!  Good-bye, stout old Foster-father and kindly Foster-mother!  Good-bye, worthy Head-nurse with your strings of titles, and good-bye, dainty little Bija!  Good-bye also to grinning Meroo, to purring Down, and frolicking Tumbu!

And for those other three whose memory remained—­Old Faithful, Dearest Lady, and the Great Emperor, Firdoos Gita Makani, who all helped the little prince to safety, what of them?