"Get off the mare, woman. Horse-chestnut is the only mount thou art fit
for. Roy! carry that foolish umbrella behind."
"In front--the emblems are ever carried in front," protested Head-nurse
feebly.
"I said behind," was all the answer she got, and behind it went while
they toiled up and up.
After a while the road became surprisingly bad; nothing in fact but a
watercourse, and Foster-father began to doubt if they could be on the
right way. Possibly, when they were all excited over the mare's bad
behaviour, they had taken a wrong turning. But as the path led ever
upwards, he judged it better to go on, though it was terribly hard work.
Every moment the road became worse and worse until it ceased to be more
than a mere ladder of rocks which puzzled even Horse-chestnut. More than
once he stopped dead and would no doubt have refused any further attempt
to climb had there been anything at which to graze. But there was
nothing; nothing but rocks. So, after a pause he made the best of a bad
bargain, raised himself on his hind legs, sought a foothold for his fore
feet in some crevice, and then scrambled up. Only the two children
enjoyed themselves, Baby Akbar laughing with delight and clapping his
hands over all the slips and slitherings which even nimble
Horse-chestnut made, and which reduced Head-nurse and Wet-nurse to
piteous wails to Roy not for Heaven's sake to let go of the
Heir-to-Empire's baggy trousers.
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