"'Tis not the boy's manners, friend," he said, "but his breed.

A man may compass manners for himself, but not that his father should have had them also." By this time the black smear was on Baby Akbar's forehead, and despite the smudge, he looked a very fine little fellow indeed.

So much so that quite a murmur of delighted admiration ran round the assemblage when Askurry appeared, leading him by the hand; for he had quickly learned to run about and was now quite steady on his legs.
"A chip of the old block," said an ancient mountain chief, who had known his grandfather Babar, and many others nodded assent.

Then Prince Askurry began a set speech, little Akbar seated on his knee the while.
It was a very clever, crafty speech, that could be taken two ways, and Prince Askurry was so much interested in it, and making sure that he was neither too disloyal or too loyal to his unfortunate brother, the King, that he did not notice what was passing on his knee until a sudden lack of attention on the part of his audience made him follow their eyes, and look down at the child upon his lap.
And then?
Then he sat dumbfounded, his face flushing to a dull, dark red, for he saw in a moment what the thing that had happened would mean to those others--the audience before him--the men he had summoned to listen to his half-hearted words.
Yet it was a very simple little thing.

Baby Akbar, tired, doubtless, of his uncle's speechifying, had found amusement in a slender gold chain which hung round his uncle's neck; had traced it to a secret pocket in his inner waistcoat, and so had drawn out from its hiding place a golden signet ring, set with an engraved emerald.