"Well," interposed Foster-father philosophically, "some one must go if any one is to sleep."
Whereat he went to the door; but Tumbu on the doorstep refused to come in; he barked, bounced off, and returned the next minute to whine and bark again.
"He only wants something; go and see what it is," came Mirak's deep-toned voice. "I know he wants something."
"Lo! man alive!" grumbled Head-nurse; "shut the door whichever way it is. I perish with cold!"
Foster-father was a wise man, so to avoid further discussion he stepped out and shut the door behind him. Thus for a minute or two there was peace. Then Foster-father's voice rose urgently from outside.
"Open! I say open! Quick!"
Foster-mother flew to obey, and her husband staggered in, bearing some one in his arms. "God send the boy be not dead," he said as he laid down his burden.
It was Roy the Râjput!
"I found him quite close, frozen by the cold," he continued, as they set to work before the fire to rub the poor, stiff limbs and force a few drops of hot milk through the blue lips.
It was some time before a faint sigh, a quiver of the eyelids told that Roy was once more coming back to the world; but after that it was not long before he could sit up and tell them what had happened.