SPRING Winter passed to spring and spring to early summer, and yet no certain news came of King Humayon or Queen Humeeda.

Foster-father almost gave up hope, yet he said little, though he took counsel with Old Faithful, and he in his turn consulted the old mountain chief, who at the assemblage had been the first to cry, "Long live the Heir-to-Empire." But the old man shook his head.

The times were new, he said; very few people remembered, as he did, the old ways, the old Kings.

But for the sake of Babar the brave they might always count on his sword and the sabres of fifty or more of his followers.

So, if the worst came to the worst, they were welcome to an asylum in his eagle's eyrie of a fortress, where at any rate they could all die together fighting for the King; and what more did any brave man want?
This was not much consolation to Foster-father, who felt that there was nothing to be done, save by every means in his power, to curry favour with the Princess Sultanum.
But, indeed, the little Heir-to-Empire made himself friends wherever he went; they could not help liking the frank little fellow who spoke to them so freely, with a certain grave dignity of his own.