It is tiny, tiny, no bigger than a rat, but it has a bushy tail and four dark stripes like finger marks down its goldy-coloured back.

And it never does anything but play, is never anything but happy; and this is why": Then he smote the strings of the _vina_ till they thrilled again, and began, his high voice warbling and carolling like a summer bird.
"Pretty! Pretty! Pretty! are you there, my sweet, In your leafy seat, where the branches meet?
Wasting all the sunny hours Pulling down the mango flowers With your dainty feet.
"Pretty, prettiest thing yawning as you lie Watching with glad eye, busy life go by.
Not the tiniest sense of duty In your careless days, my beauty, 'Neath the cloudless sky.
"Happiest, merriest ways, Knowing no gainsays, so the story says, Since the Great Ram loved and blessed you, With his care-worn hand caressed you, In the olden days.
"Then, when he was seeking Sita, peerless maid, By his foes dismayed, Ram, her lover, bade All the beasts and birds and fishes Leave their play to do his wishes, Fight to give him aid.
"And the golden squirrel sprang at his behest, Nestled to his breast, first to join the quest.
But Great Ram's grave eyes grew tender, Smiled upon the warrior slender, Braver than the rest! "'Nay! thou art too pretty! fearless little heart, Thou should'st have no part in Strife's bitter art; Live to show man, worn and weary, One blythe soul for ever cheery, Free from sorrow's smart.' "Laid his kind hand softly on its golden hair, So palm squirrels bear, where Ram's fingers were, Four dark shadows on them, showing Gladdest life must lose its glowing From the touch of care.
"So the squirrels' birthright is to want for naught, Have no grief or thought, know not 'must' or 'ought.' Yet upon their gold there lingers Shades of care, that Great Ram's fingers For their blessing wrought." "_Wah! Wah!_" cried the Queen, delighted.

"He can stop if he likes." Ten minutes after Roy had finished his song Dearest-Lady's litter paused for a moment on a high-perched corner of the road towards Kandahar, to give her a last look of the fair city of Kabul.

Her bright old face was bright still, undimmed by care.

She was old and frail, she was going a wearisome, trying journey; yet, for the present, she knew that she had saved the Heir-to-Empire's life.