But his thoughts would be busy, wondering above other things why it was that, do what he would, he could not help when they were alone at play sometimes calling the Heir-to-Empire "little brother." It was dreadfully wrong of him, of course, and Head-nurse would rightly cuff his ears if she overheard it! Then Akbar would wake and call imperiously for some favourite story, and as often as not it would be the tale of "How Rajah Rasalu swung the Seventy Maidens." And Roy would reply submissively: "It is ordered, Highness!" and begin: "Now Rajah Rasalu, soft heart and strong, heard a pitiful voice as he rode along.

'Oh traveller! traveller! turn aside, and help God's creature,' it moaned and cried.

So the Prince turned straight and saw that a fire had caught a bush, blazing higher and higher, while a tiny cricket lay gasping for breath, half-scorched, half-choked, and nigh to its death.

Then Rajah Rasalu, soft hearted and stout, put his hand in the fire and snatched it out! And the cricket drew forth a feeler and said: 'Take this, my preserver, 'twill bring you aid; should _any_ thing _ever_ prove troublesome, burn _this_ in the fire and _I_ will come.' Then Rasalu laughed with a great big laugh, 'I thank you, weakling! But none of your chaff! _You_ couldn't help _me_ I'll go bail.' So he rode on careless o'er hill and dale, a glittering knight in his shining mail, till he came to the city of King Surkap, whom he'd sworn to kill with his sword so sharp.

Now as he rode through a garden gay, Seventy Maidens barred the way; Seventy Maidens young and fair, with flowers decking their golden hair.