For the bay mare, not having been ridden for some time, was
full of beans. Baby Akbar insisted on holding the reins, and Meroo,
whose turn it was to hold the umbrella, _would_ slip and slither among
the stones, thereby bringing its fringe right on the bay mare's nose.
"Oh! Head-nurse, have a care! The blessed child!" shrieked poor
Foster-mother as a more than usually bad stumble sent the umbrella on to
the mare's tail.
This was too much for it. Frightened out of its senses, it gave a
frenzied bound forwards, then rearing straight up, hung over the edge of
the path, as if it meant to take a downward plunge.
All seemed lost! Foster-father and Faithful stood petrified with
despair. Meroo would have dashed forward to catch at the rein but Roy,
knowing with that curious instinct of his, that that would only make
matters worse, as it would still further frighten the mare, held him
back by main force. The only person who was not spellbound with fear was
Baby Akbar. He thought it a fine joke that his mount should stand up on
its hind legs and paw the air. So he shrieked with delight, and dropped
the reins to clap his hands, as he always did when he was pleased. Now
this was the very best thing he, or anybody else, could have done. The
mare, feeling herself free, thought better of it, and wheeling round
dropped her fore feet on the path once more.
Foster-father's loud Arabic thanksgiving ended in an equally loud order.
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