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If she, Head-nurse, died of sunstroke what matter, but if Foster-mother failed, what even though one back tooth had been gloriously cut would become of the Heir-to-Empire, the Admired-of-the-World, the Great-in-Pomp, etc.? So, to comfort herself she went on mumbling titles as she struggled along, the sun beating fiercely on her bare head.
As the fresh juniper branches blazed up Head-nurse came tottering and stumbling into its light. Roy sprang to help her, but she pushed him aside. "The Heir-to-Empire?" she muttered, her lips almost refusing to form the words. "The Heir-to-Empire, the Admired-of-the-World " Roy pointed to the little tent. "There! Safe! Well!
"God does help true kingship," he said proudly. "Mother used to say so, and that is why she was never afraid " He paused and the light in his face faded. "I I don't remember any more," he added apologetically. "Remembrance or no," snapped Head-nurse, "hold the pot straight, boy, or thou wilt spill it over the Mighty-in-Pomp, the Admired-of-the-World," etc.
"Only this: His Imperial Highness, Prince Akbar, the Admired-of-the-World, the Source-of-Dignity, the Most-Magnificent-Person-of-the-Period " She went on, after her wont, rolling out all the titles that belonged of right to the little Prince, until the soft, anxious voice lost patience and called again, "Have done have done; what is it? Heaven save he hath not been in danger."
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