Sunni had more to learn than Moti had. He had a good
many things to forget, too, which gave him almost as much trouble.
The Maharajah found it as difficult as ever to like ee-Wobbis's
medicines, but he considered them excellent for Moti's cough, and
only complained that his son should be given so little of them.
The royal treasury would pay for a whole bottle--why should the
little prince get only a spoonful? Nevertheless Dr. Roberts stood
well in the estimation of the Maharajah, who arranged that a great
many things should be done as the missionary suggested. In one
case the Maharajah had the palace well, the oldest palace well,
cleaned out--a thing that nobody had ever thought of before; and he
was surprised to find what was at the bottom of it. Dr. Roberts
advised putting down a few drains too, and making a road from the
city of the Maharajah to the great highways that led to the
Viceroy's India. The Maharajah laid the drains, and said he would
think about the road. Then Dr. Roberts suggested that a hospital
would be a good thing, and the Maharajah said he would think about
that too.
Sunni was growing fast; he was too tall and thin for nine years
old. Dr. Roberts took anxious care of him, thinking of the unknown
grandfather and grandmother in England, and how he could best tell
them of this boy of theirs, who read Urdu better than English, and
wore embroidered slippers turned squarely up at the toes, and asked
such strange questions about his father's God.
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