Babar blushed. "Thou said'st thou had never seen them," he began apologetically.
"Save through thine eyes and they are good enough for most folk. Be not ashamed, coz, of the gift God hath given thee. And thou shalt bring me a fat deer and some kalidge pheasant--and, with luck, a cock minâwul. Then we will look at it with the same eyes--thou and I--" A wistfulness had crept into his voice, and he said no more.
But the curious thing was that the bag was ever just what Poverty-prince had predicted, neither more, nor less.
"Thou art a wizard, for sure," said Babar half seriously. "The thought of thy words makes my aim sure at times, and at another sets my bow arm a-quiver. Wert thou to say 'naught,' I should return empty-handed."
"So be it," laughed the cripple. "Why should we kill God's pretty creatures?"
And thereinafter two whole hunts produced nothing. Whether it was a fresh fall of snow in the hills that brought ill luck Babar could not say, but he looked at his cousin with awe.
"Thou hast more power I verily believe," he said, "than the Dream-man whom Uncle Hussain keeps--"
"For his amusement," put in Poverty-prince with a frown. "But that is black magic; mine is white. I do naught. 'Tis thy mind that answers--" he broke off and his large eyes--the only unmarred feature in his face--narrowed themselves to a piercing glance. "Wherefore should I not say it, cousin? Has it not struck thee, that had'st thou been born crooked and not straight, or had I been born straight and not crooked, we should have been as two twins? That is why I like thee, and thou likest me."
The boy sat and stared at him, almost incredulously. He could not imagine his youth and strength pent up in that prison of a body; and yet ...
Yes! without doubt there was some tie. Else why should he feel so intimate--why should he speak to Poverty-prince of things which every decent young Mahomedan was taught to keep to himself; for instance of Dearest-One and the possibility of her marrying Baisanghâr?