‘To bring your gods to the Rajputs.’

‘I have no gods,’ declared Sunni.  ’Kali is so ugly—­I have no heart for her.  Ganesh makes me laugh, with his elephant’s head; and Tooni says that Allah is not my God.’

‘Tooni says,’ Sunni went on reflectively, ’that my God is in her little black book.  But I have never seen him.’

Perhaps this Englishman will show him to you,’ suggested Moti.

’But His Highness, your father, will he allow strange gods to be brought to the people?’

‘No,’ said Moti, ’the people will not look at them.  Every one has been warned.  But the stranger is to remain, that he may teach me English.  I do not wish to learn English—­or anything.  It is always so hot when the pundit comes.  But my father wishes it.’

A pundit is a wise old man who generally has a long white beard, and thinks nothing in the world is so enjoyable as Sanskrit or Arabic.  Sunni, too, found it hot when the pundit came.  But an English pundit—­

‘Moti-ji,’ said Sunni, laying his arm around the little prince’s neck as they rode together, ‘do you love me?’

Moti caught Sunni’s hand as it dropped over his shoulder.  ’You know that in my heart there is only my father’s face and yours, Sahib’s son,’ he said.

‘Will you do one thing, then, for love of me?’ asked Sunni eagerly.  ’Will you ask of the Maharajah, your father, that I also may learn English from the stranger?’

‘No,’ said Moti mischievously, ’because it is already spoken, Sunni-ji.  I said that I would not learn unless you also were compelled to learn, so that the time should not be lost between us.  Now let us gallop very fast past the jail, lest the Englishman should think we wish to see him.  He is to be brought to me to-morrow at sundown.’

The Englishman at that moment was unpacking his books and his bottles, and thinking about how he could best begin the work he had come to Lalpore to do.  He was a medical missionary, and as they had every variety of disease in Lalpore, and the population was entirely heathen, we may think it likely that he had too much on his mind to run to the window to see such very young royalty ride by.

‘Sunni-ji,’ said Moti that afternoon in the garden, ’I am very tired of talking of this Englishman.’

‘I could talk of him for nine moons,’ said Sunni; and then something occurred which changed the subject as completely as even the little prince could desire.  This was a garden for the pleasure of the ladies of the court; they never came out in it, but their apartments looked down upon it, and a very high wall screened it from the rest of the world.  The Maharajah and Moti and Sunni were the only people who might ever walk there.  As the boys turned at the end of a path directly under the gratings, they heard a soft voice say ‘Moti!’

‘That is Matiya,’ said the little prince.  ’I do not like Matiya.  What is it, Matiya?’