‘It is not Matiya,’ said the voice quickly, ’it is Tarra.  Here is a gift from the heart of Tarra, little parrot, a gift for you, and a gift for the Sahib’s son; also a sweet cake, but the cake is for Moti.’

‘I am sure it was Matiya,’ said Moti, running to pick the packet out of the rose-bush it had fallen into; ’but Matiya was never kind before.’

The packet held a necklace and an armlet.  The necklace was of little pearls and big amethysts strung upon fine wire, three rows of pearls, and then an amethyst, and was very lovely.  The armlet was of gold, with small rubies and turquoises set in a pattern.  The boys looked at them more or less indifferently.  They had seen so many jewels.

‘Matiya—­if you think it was Matiya—­makes pretty gifts,’ said Sunni, ’and the Maharajah will keep your necklace for you for ever in an iron box.  But this armlet will get broken just as the other two armlets that were given to me have got broken.  I cannot wear armlets and play polo, and I would rather play polo.’

‘That is because you were clumsy,’ Moti answered.  Moti was peevish that afternoon.  The Maharajah had refused him a gun, and he particularly wanted a gun, not to shoot anything, but to frighten the crows with and perhaps the coolie-folk.  To console himself Moti had eaten twice as many sweetmeats as were good for him, and was in a bad temper accordingly.

‘Now they are certainly of Tarra, these jewels,’ exclaimed Sunni, ’I remember that necklace upon her neck, for every time Tarra has kissed me, that fifth stone which has been broken in the cutting has scratched my face.’

‘In one word,’ said Moti imperiously, ’it was the voice of Matiya.  And this perplexes me, for Matiya, hating my mother, hates me also, I think.’

‘Why did she hate your mother?’ asked Sunni.

’How stupid you are to-day!  You have heard the story two hundred times!  Because she thought that she should have been chosen to be queen instead of my mother.  It is true that she was more beautiful, but my mother was a pundita.  And she was not chosen.  She is only second in the palace.  And she has no children, while my mother was the mother of a king.’

‘No,’ said Sunni, ‘I never heard that before, Moti.’

’But I say you have!  Two hundred times!  And look, O thoughtless one, you have gone between me and the sun, so that even now your shadow falls upon my sugar-cake—­my cake stuffed with almonds, which is the kind I most love, and therefore I cannot eat it.  There,’ cried Moti, contemptuously, ’take it yourself and eat it—­ you have no caste to break.’

For a minute Sunni was as angry as possible.  Then he reflected that it was silly to be angry with a person who was not very well.

‘Listen, Moti,’ he said, ’that was indeed a fault.  I should have walked to the north.  But I will not eat your cake—­let us give it to the red and gold fishes in the fountain.’