"Peace! brothers," said a sneering voice, "Prince Askurry prefers to leave the snake to fight with his own son in the future." The taunt told.

It was true! Better to scotch the snake now, than to leave it to be dangerous by and by; dangerous perhaps to his own little son who was but a few years older than Baby Akbar.
Prince Askurry strode forward drawn sword in hand; but whether he really meant to use it or not cannot be told, for a very strange thing happened.

Baby Akbar had been listening to the fierce voices just as he had listened to the angry voices when Adam had refused to salute.

And now he saw some one before him who appeared to have no intention--as Adam had no intention--of making his reverence; so, remembering the fine thing he had done when the latter had been naughty, up went the little hand again, and once more the loud, deep, baby voice said imperiously: "Salute! Slave! salute!" The words were barely uttered when by pure chance Prince Askurry's foot caught in the ragged carpet, and----?
And down he came flat as a pancake on the floor in the very lowliest salute that ever was made! The next moment, however, he sat up, half-stunned, and looked wrathfully at his little nephew.
But Baby Akbar's honest open face was full of grieved sympathy.
"Poor, poor!" he said, shaking his quaintly crowned head, "tumbu down.
Nanna kiss it, make it well." Prince Askurry sat stupidly staring for a moment or two.

Then the memory of many a childish hurt cured by like gracious offer from his father came back to him, making his heart soft.