Long years have sped since that poor book was penned.
None read the pages. Therefore at the end
Of this world's life I dedicate to two
Small boys--her sons--whose question'ng eyes of blue
Tell me that dreams of childhood never end
_This_ book. So take it boys--'twas writ for you.

_1911_




PREFACE


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

A LESSON BOOK