And so did the others, though
they sat up till Foster-father crept in to the tent about midnight,
after having seen the Royal Fugitives safely over the Persian border. Of
course, there was nothing but miles on miles of snowy mountains before
them, nothing but long struggle and privation to be hoped for; still
they were out of India, out of an enemy's country. For which Heaven be
thanked!
So they wrapped themselves in their quilts and lay down to rest with
hearts eased for the time of immediate anxiety.
Head-nurse, however, began at once, after her wont, to make plans for
resuming some of the courtly ways which hurry had made impossible. The
gold embroidered royal red umbrella was one thing she was determined to
have.
But who was to hold it over the Royal Infant? Roy would get tired of it
during a long march. He was but a boy; and after all there should be a
Deputy, Assistant, Second, Umbrella Bearer to Majesty.
Could Meroo, properly dressed, of course, be promoted to the position?
She actually woke Foster-father from his well-earned first sleep to
propound this knotty question.
"Good woman," he murmured patiently, "make what court appointments ye
will. Create the scullion Prime Minister, so I have my sleep."
And he was snoring almost before the words were out of his mouth.
So next morning Head-nurse, refusing the baggage camel with panniers
which Prince Askurry sent for the use of the little Heir-to-Empire,
organised a procession of her own.
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