The Adventures of Akbar

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Steel Flora Annie Webster. The Adventures of Akbar

A DEDICATION

PREFACE

CHAPTER I. FAREWELL

CHAPTER II. THE FIRST VICTORY

CHAPTER III. THE ROYAL UMBRELLA

CHAPTER IV. TUMBU-DOWN

CHAPTER V. ON THE ROAD

CHAPTER VI. AT COURT

CHAPTER VII. WINTER

CHAPTER VIII. DOWN'S STRATAGEM

CHAPTER IX. SPRING

CHAPTER X. THE NIGHT OF RECORD

CHAPTER XI. A WINTER MARCH

CHAPTER XII. SNOW AND ICE

CHAPTER XIII. OVER THE PASS

CHAPTER XIV. IN THE VALLEY

CHAPTER XV. DEAREST-LADY

CHAPTER XVI. CRUEL BROTHER KUMRAN

CHAPTER XVII. IMPRISONMENT

CHAPTER XVIII. THE GARDEN OF GAMES

CHAPTER XIX. BETWIXT CUP AND LIP

CHAPTER XX. ESCAPED

CHAPTER XXI. DAWN

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This book is written for all little lads and lasses, but especially for the former, since it is the true—quite true—story of a little lad who lived to be, perhaps, the greatest king this world has ever seen.

It is a strange, wild tale this of the adventures of Prince Akbar among the snowy mountains between Kandahâr and Kâbul, and though the names may be a bit of a puzzle at first, as they will have to be learned by and bye in geography and history lessons, it might be as well to get familiar with them in a story-book; though, indeed, as everybody in it except Roy the Râjput, Meroo the cook boy; Tumbu, the dog; and Down, the cat (and these four may have been true, you know, though they have not been remembered) really lived, I don't know whether this book oughtn't to be considered real history, and therefore

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For the sunstroke which had so nearly killed the lad had left his mind a little confused. As yet he could remember nothing of what had happened to him before it, and could not even recollect who he was, or anything save that his name was Roy. But every now and again he would say something or do something which would make those around him look surprised, and wonder who he could have been to know such things and have such manners.

After him came Meroo, the misshapen cook-boy. He was an odd fellow, all long limbs and broad smiles, who, when his time arrived, shambled forward, cast himself in lowliest reverence full length on the ground and blubbered out his delight—now that the princely baby could really eat—at being able to supply all sorts of toothsome stews full of onions and green ginger, to say nothing of watermelons and sugar cane. These things, strange to say, being to little Indian children very much what chocolate creams and toffee are to English ones.

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