This was Dr. Roberts’ difficulty; his mouth would be stopped.  He did not doubt the Maharajah.  If he wrote to Calcutta that a Rajput prince still held a hostage from the Mutiny, and made a disturbance, there would be an end to the work he had begun under the shadow of the palace wall.  And the work was prospering so well!  The people were listening now, Dr. Roberts thought, and certainly he had been able to relieve a great deal of their physical misery.  Would he be justified in writing to Calcutta?  Dr. Roberts thought about it very long and very seriously.  In the end he believed that he would not be justified, at least until the year was over of which the Maharajah spoke.  Then if His Highness did not keep his promise, Dr. Roberts would see about it.

So the year went by; the months when the sun blazed straight across the sky overhead, and everybody slept at noonday—­the months when a gray sheet of rain hung from the clouds for days together, and the months when all the Maharajah’s dominions were full of splendid yellow lights and pleasant winds—­when the teak wood trees dropped their big dusty leaves, and the nights were sharply cold, and Rajputana pretended that it was winter.  Dr. Roberts and Sunni were very well then, but Moti shrivelled up and coughed the day through, and the Maharajah, when he went out to drive, wrapped himself up in Cashmere shawls, head and ears and all.

The boys learnt as much English as could possibly be expected of them; Sunni learnt more, because Dr. Roberts made it a point that he should.  Besides, he became a great friend of Dr. Roberts, who began by begging that Sunni might be allowed to ride with him, then to drive with him, and finally to spend two or three days at a time with him.  Sunni had more to learn than Moti had.  He had a good many things to forget, too, which gave him almost as much trouble.

The Maharajah found it as difficult as ever to like ee-Wobbis’s medicines, but he considered them excellent for Moti’s cough, and only complained that his son should be given so little of them.  The royal treasury would pay for a whole bottle—­why should the little prince get only a spoonful?  Nevertheless Dr. Roberts stood well in the estimation of the Maharajah, who arranged that a great many things should be done as the missionary suggested.  In one case the Maharajah had the palace well, the oldest palace well, cleaned out—­a thing that nobody had ever thought of before; and he was surprised to find what was at the bottom of it.  Dr. Roberts advised putting down a few drains too, and making a road from the city of the Maharajah to the great highways that led to the Viceroy’s India.  The Maharajah laid the drains, and said he would think about the road.  Then Dr. Roberts suggested that a hospital would be a good thing, and the Maharajah said he would think about that too.