‘Let him come with me now, immediately,’ said the little Maharajah; ‘he has a face of gold.’

The Maharajah sat down, not in his chair—­he did not greatly like sitting in his chair—­but on the carpet.

‘Whence do you come?’ said he to Tooni.

‘Protector of the poor, from Rubbulgurh.’

‘Where your Highness sent to for us,’ added Sonny Sahib.  ’Tooni, why do you pinch me?’

His Highness looked disconcerted for a moment.  As a matter of fact he had known all that Tooni or Sonny Sahib could tell him about themselves for three years, but he considered it more dignified to appear as if he knew nothing.

‘This is a child of the mlechas,’ said the Maharajah, which was not a very polite way of saying that he was English.

‘Protector of the poor, yes.’

‘Account to me for him.  How old is he?’

‘Seven years, great King.’

‘And two months, Tooni-ji.  Your Highness, may I sit down?’

’As old as the Folly.’[1]

[1] Native term for the Mutiny.

’He came of the Folly, Hazur.  His mother died by the sepoys in Cawnpore, his father—­also,’ said Tooni, for she feared to be blamed for not having found Sonny Sahib’s father.  As she told the story once again to the Maharajah, adding many things that Sonny Sahib had never heard before, he became so much interested that he stood on one foot for five minutes at a time, and quite forgot to ask His Highness again if he might sit down.

The Maharajah heard her to the end without a word or a change of expression.  When she had finished, ‘My soldiers were not there,’ he said thoughtfully, and with a shade of regret, which was not, I fear, at the thought of any good they might have done.  Then he seemed to reflect, while Tooni stood before him with her hands joined together at the finger-tips and her head bowed.

’Then, without permission, you brought this child of outcasts into my State,’ said he at last.  ‘That was an offence.’

Tooni struck her forehead with her hand.

‘Your Highness is my father and my mother!’ she sobbed, ’I could not leave it to the jackals.’

’You are a wretched Mussulman, the daughter of cow-killers, and you may have known no better—­’

‘Your Highness!’ remarked Sonny Sahib, with respectful indignation, ‘Adam had two sons, one was buried and one was burned—­’

‘Choop!’ said the Maharajah crossly.  You might almost guess that ‘Choop’ meant ‘Be quiet!’

‘But it was an offence,’ he continued.

‘Protector of the poor, I meant no harm.’

’That is true talk.  And you shall receive no harm.  But you must leave the boy with me.  I want him to play games with my son, to amuse my son.  For thirty days my son has asked this of me, and ten days ago his mother died—­so he must have it.’

Tooni salaamed humbly.  ’If the boy finds favour in Your Highness’s eyes it is very good,’ she said simply, and turned to go.