THE ROYAL UMBRELLA
 THAT night even Roy the R‚jput, who as a rule woke every hour to see to his little master's safety, slept
sound. And so did the others, though they sat up till Foster-father crept in to the tent about midnight, after
having seen the Royal Fugitives safely over the Persian border. Of course, there was nothing but miles on
miles of snowy mountains before them, nothing but long struggle and privation to be hoped for; still they were
out of India, out of an enemy's country. For which Heaven be thanked!
So they wrapped themselves in their quilts and lay down to rest with hearts eased for the time of immediate
Head-nurse, however, began at once, after her wont, to make plans for resuming some of the courtly ways which
hurry had made impossible. The gold embroidered royal red umbrella was one thing she was determined to have.
But who was to hold it over the Royal Infant? Roy would get tired of it during a long march. He was but a boy;
and after all there should be a Deputy, Assistant, Second, Umbrella Bearer to Majesty.
Could Meroo, properly dressed, of course, be promoted to the position?
 She actually woke Foster-father from his well-earned first sleep to propound this knotty question.
"Good woman," he murmured patiently, "make what court appointments ye will. Create the scullion Prime
Minister, so I have my sleep."
And he was snoring almost before the words were out of his mouth.
So next morning Head-nurse, refusing the baggage camel with panniers which Prince Askurry sent for the use of
the little Heir-to-Empire, organised a procession of her own.
First of all came Foster-father, stout and solid, on his skew-bald hill pony which was called Horse-chestnut
because it was patched all over, like an unripe chestnut, with yellow, brown and white.
It had a lovely tail that touched the ground, and a coat that was long and wavy like an Irish setter's. A
wise, sober pony was Horse-chestnut; he never attempted to climb up anything he thought too difficult, but
just gave a look at it to make sure and then put down his head calmly, and began to graze until his rider
found an easier path.
Next came Trooper Faithful on his old white charger Lightning. Once upon a time it had been like its name,
swift exceedingly, but now, like its master, it was slow and stiff.
Then followed Head-nurse, astride, in Indian fashion, the bay Belooch mare which had been Queen
 Humeeda's favourite mount until it had had to be left behind in one of the hasty moves which had of late been
so common in the hunted life of the Royal Fugitives. The mare, of course, had been taken by the pursuers, and
brought along with them; and the groom in charge of it had come grinning with delight to Foster-father when he
found himself in the same camp again. Foster-father was for riding the bay mare himself and giving sober
Horse-chestnut to the Heir-to-Empire, but Head-nurse would not hear of this. The bay mare was, she said,
altogether more royal. So there she was, with Baby Akbar astride a cushion in front, perched on the skittish
creature, feeling at heart very nervous, for she was but a poor rider. However, she held on very tight with
one hand, held Baby Akbar still tighter with the other, and trusted to Providence, while Roy and Meroo ran
beside her on either side, alternately holding up the Royal Umbrella as best they could.
Foster-mother on a mule, with little Adam perched in front of her brought up the rear of the procession. It
was a poor one for progress even along the levels, because of the bay mare's fidgeting and caperings, but when
the steep hill sides were reached it became impossible to keep up with the rest of the equipage. So Prince
Askurry and his men pushed on ahead leaving the little party alone, since escape was impossible on that wild
mountain road, especially with
 the rear guard of the camp coming a few miles behind them. And, indeed, if such an idea had entered the heads
of any of the party it must soon have fled before the difficulty of getting along at all. It was a steep
zig-zag path, and looking upwards you could see it zigging and zagging right away to the sky line. Poor
Foster-mother, who came last, could not take her eyes off it, for the bends immediately above her were filled
with the most terrifying sights. First her stout husband, who seemed to be in the act of slipping over
Horse-chestnut's tail. On the next Old Faithful, driven to dismounting and laboriously lugging Lightning up by
the bridle. But the last zig-zag in front of her called forth piercing shrieks. For the bay mare, not having
been ridden for some time, was full of beans. Baby Akbar insisted on holding the reins, and Meroo, whose turn
it was to hold the umbrella, would slip and slither among the stones, thereby bringing its fringe
right on the bay mare's nose.
"Oh! Head-nurse, have a care! The blessed child!" shrieked poor Foster-mother as a more than usually bad
stumble sent the umbrella on to the mare's tail.
This was too much for it. Frightened out of its senses, it gave a frenzied bound forwards, then rearing
straight up, hung over the edge of the path, as if it meant to take a downward plunge.
 All seemed lost! Foster-father and Faithful stood petrified with despair. Meroo would have dashed forward to
catch at the rein but Roy, knowing with that curious instinct of his, that that would only make matters worse,
as it would still further frighten the mare, held him back by main force. The only person who was not
spellbound with fear was Baby Akbar. He thought it a fine joke that his mount should stand up on its hind legs
and paw the air. So he shrieked with delight, and dropped the reins to clap his hands, as he always did when
he was pleased. Now this was the very best thing he, or anybody else, could have done. The mare, feeling
herself free, thought better of it, and wheeling round dropped her fore feet on the path once more.
Foster-father's loud Arabic thanksgiving ended in an equally loud order. "Get off the mare, woman.
Horse-chestnut is the only mount thou art fit for. Roy! carry that foolish umbrella behind."
"In front—the emblems are ever carried in front," protested Head-nurse feebly.
"I said behind," was all the answer she got, and behind it went while they toiled up and up.
After a while the road became surprisingly bad; nothing in fact but a watercourse, and Foster-father began to
doubt if they could be on the right way. Possibly, when they were all excited over the mare's bad behaviour,
they had taken a wrong turning. But
 as the path led ever upwards, he judged it better to go on, though it was terribly hard work. Every moment the
road became worse and worse until it ceased to be more than a mere ladder of rocks which puzzled even
Horse-chestnut. More than once he stopped dead and would no doubt have refused any further attempt to climb
had there been anything at which to graze. But there was nothing; nothing but rocks. So, after a pause he made
the best of a bad bargain, raised himself on his hind legs, sought a foothold for his fore feet in some
crevice, and then scrambled up. Only the two children enjoyed themselves, Baby Akbar laughing with delight and
clapping his hands over all the slips and slitherings which even nimble Horse-chestnut made, and which reduced
Head-nurse and Wet-nurse to piteous wails to Roy not for Heaven's sake to let go of the Heir-to-Empire's baggy
trousers. And Adam enjoyed himself, also, running on in front and making snowballs in the drifts which, ere
long, were to be seen sheltering from the sun in the clefts of the rocks.
The sight of them made Foster-father frown. "We go too high," he said. "Heaven send we have not to climb to a
His remark made Head-nurse give way altogether. She wept loudly, saying in that case she had better stay and
die where she was, thus saving them the trouble of carrying her down the hill.
 At that very moment, however, Adam who had run far ahead began waving his arms and shouting:
"He says 'The top! the top!'" cried Roy, who was keen in hearing as in everything else. "Courage, mother! our
troubles are over!"
They had not quite ended, but in a few minutes more they had reached the beginning of the pass
proper. Before them lay a grassy boggy slope curling gently upwards between higher rockier slopes. A little
stream plashed softly adown it, through a perfect wilderness of flowers, and without one word the tired
travellers threw themselves beside it for rest and refreshment.
But Baby Akbar looked a little troubled.
"Amma, Dadda 'way 'way in a 'ky," he said solemnly, and essayed to crawl on over the grass. For he could not
walk yet, though he spoke so well. They say he began to talk when he was nine months old.
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