She and Foster-mother sent all their jewels to the goldsmith to be made up into suitable ornaments for Baby Akbar, and they ransacked the shops for odd scraps of brocade with which to make him the finest of fine state robes.
And on the eventful day they began the child's toilette early, pressing Roy the Rajput into service as tire-woman to hold the ointments, and scents, and what not, that they deemed necessary for the due dressing of a Prince.
So that it rather dashed their spirits when Foster-father came in with a sober face and the news that a man had come into the bazaar bringing bad tidings of the King and Queen.

They had, he said, been lost in the snow; but whether this was true or not, who could tell?
"Then what is the use of worrying ?" snapped Head-nurse, who was too much occupied in making her charge beautiful to think of other things.

"Lo! Foster-father, evil is never lost on the road.

It arrives sooner or later, so why watch for it at the door ?" "That is true," replied Foster-father, "but mark my words, all depends on good news.

If that comes, the child is safe; if evil--then God help him!" Roy, who, Baby Akbar being nearly dressed, was now holding the pot of lamp-black and oil with which Head-nurse, after the Indian custom, would put a finishing touch to her work by smearing a big black smut on the child's forehead, lest he should be too sweet and so attract an envious, evil eye, looked up at the words, his face full of light and remembrance.
"God does help true kingship," he said proudly.