Then, when he was tired, Roy would cradle his young master in his arms and sing to him.

Not lullabies, for little Akbar's mind kept pace with his body, and every month saw him more and more of a boy and less and less of a baby.
"Tell me how Rajah Rasalu did this," or "Tell me how Rajah Rasalu did that," he would say; and so Roy's boyish voice would go over the old story of endless adventures, which has delighted so many Indian children for so many generations.
So time passed quite merrily until one night, when something dreadful happened.

So dreadful that it will really require another chapter to describe it.

But it was one night when Roy had been telling the little prince how "Rajah Rasalu's friends forsook him for fear." And as this is rather a nice story, it shall be told here.
"You know, great Kingly child," began Roy, "how Rajah Rasalu was born and how Rajah Rasalu set out into the world to seek for fortune, taking with him his dear horse, Baunwa-iraki, his parrot, Kilkila, who had lived with him since he was born, besides the Carpenter-lad and the Goldsmith-lad, who had sworn never to leave their young master.

So he journeyed north to a lonely place, all set with sombre trees.