“Yes,” he said, “Addiscombe. What stories he used to tell us about the young officers there! What did he call them? I forget.”
“Cadets,” said Glyn thoughtfully.
“That’s it. I wish I didn’t forget so many of those English words; but,” continued the boy, “I liked it best when he told us about the battles out at home, when all the chiefs around were fighting against my father the Maharajah, so as to slay him and divide his possessions. You know, my father has talked about it to me as well—how he was so nearly beaten and weakened, and so many of his bravest officers killed, that it made him apply to the great Company for help, and they sent your father. Oh, what a brave man he was!”
“Who said that?” cried Glyn, flushing up.
“My father the Maharajah. He said so to me many times, and that he was his best and truest friend. Oh yes, I used to like to hear about it all, and he used to tell me that the Colonel would always be my truest friend as well, and that I was to love him and obey him, and always believe that what he told me to do was right. And I always do.”
“Of course you do,” said Glyn flushing. “Yes, Singh, he is some one to be proud of, isn’t he? But I am like you; I don’t much like coming to this school, though the Doctor is very nice and kind to us both.”
“Yes, I like him better than the masters,” said Singh; “but I don’t like the boys, and I don’t think they like me.”
“Oh, wait a bit,” said Glyn. “It’s because everything seems so different to being in India; but, as father says, there is such a lot one ought to learn, and we shall get used to it by-and-by; only, I say, you know what the dad said?”
“You mean about trying to be an English gentle man and leaving the maharajah till I get back home?”
“Yes, that’s it,” cried Glyn eagerly.