"If the boy cannot walk, carry him!" Head-nurse could scarcely speak.

To be called "Woman" by an upstart--for Prince Askurry had married Princess Sultanam for her beauty--was too much! "The Feet-of-the-Most-Condescending-of-Majesties," she began pompously, "have not yet conferred happiness on the earth by treading it underfoot, neither----" Here she broke off hurriedly, for at that very instant, as if in denial of her words, Baby Akbar gave a little crow of assent, let go her petticoats, and with outspread balancing arms, and legs very wide apart, launched himself boldly for his very first steps! "_Bismillah!_" (Well done!) shrieked Foster-mother in delight.
"_Bismillah! Bismillah!_" echoed every one in the room, while all eyes full of smiles were on the stalwart young toddler as he lurched forward, his face one broad grin.
Princess Sultanam clapped her hands again.

"Thy turban, my lord!" she cried in a flutter of amusement.

"Thy turban, quick; as his father is not here 'tis thy place to prevent him falling of himself--thy turban--quick! quick!" Prince Askurry, full of laughter, pulled off the soft turban he wore--it was all wound round and round to fit the head like a cap--and in obedience to the Indian custom, which always prevents a child from falling of itself in its first attempt at walking, flung it full at the little lad.

It caught him between his outspread balancing arms and over he went on to the thick pile carpet.
Foster-mother was beside him in a second, eager to snatch him up and cover him with kisses; but Baby Akbar wriggled himself from her hold.