The Maharajah and Moti and Sunni were the only people who might ever walk there.

As the boys turned at the end of a path directly under the gratings, they heard a soft voice say 'Moti!' 'That is Matiya,' said the little prince.

'I do not like Matiya.
What is it, Matiya ?' 'It is not Matiya,' said the voice quickly, 'it is Tarra.

Here is a gift from the heart of Tarra, little parrot, a gift for you, and a gift for the Sahib's son; also a sweet cake, but the cake is for Moti.' 'I am sure it was Matiya,' said Moti, running to pick the packet out of the rose-bush it had fallen into; 'but Matiya was never kind before.' The packet held a necklace and an armlet.

The necklace was of little pearls and big amethysts strung upon fine wire, three rows of pearls, and then an amethyst, and was very lovely.