The little girl shook her head and put her finger to her lip, in warning to him not to give away their secret; but Head-nurse was sharp.
"Ohé," said she, "so that was it! Listen, Foster-father! these babes set the platter for Firdoos Gita Makâni—on whom be peace! Is not that good omen for us all?"
"Mayhap!" said Foster-father, clearing his throat cautiously, "and my heart is comforted also by the presence of Faithful, who was with the great king in his battle with snow and ice."
The Heir-to-Empire dropped his cat's cradle and went over to the old trooper and stood before him with grave, questioning eyes.
"Is it so, slave? Were you with Grand-dad in the snow?"
"Most-Honourable! I was," replied the old man boastfully, "and I remember as if 'twas yesterday——"
"Tell us the tale, trooper," interrupted Head-nurse. "'Twill hearten us all up ere we sleep, since there is naught else to be done."
"That will I, mother," replied Old Faithful with alacrity, "and in the very words of my revered master as written in that book of books, his Memoirs, which doubtless the most Learned-of-the-Universe will read some day."
Mirak, who was back at his cat's cradle, looked up with grave superiority.
"Nay, slave! They shall read it to Akbar. He will be King."