Sonny Sahib didn’t seem to know any stories—­he could only tell the old one about the fighting Abdul saw over and over again—­but it was the single thing they could do better than he did.  On the whole he began to prefer the society of Abdul’s black and white goats, which bore a strong resemblance to Abdul himself, by the way, and had more of the spirit of adventure.  It was the goat, for example, that taught Sonny Sahib to walk on the extreme edge of the housetop and not tumble over.  In time they became great friends, Sonny Sahib and the goat, and always, when it was not too hot, they slept together.

Then two things happened.  First, Abdul died, and Sonny Sahib became acquainted with grief, both according to his own nature and according to the law of Mahomed.  Then, after he and Tooni had mourned sincerely with very little to eat for nine days, there clattered one day a horseman through the village at such a pace that everybody ran out to see.  And he was worth seeing, that horseman, in a blue turban as big as a little tub, a yellow coat, red trousers with gold lace on them, and long boots that stuck out far on either side; and an embroidered saddle and a tasselled bridle, and a pink-nosed white charger that stepped and pranced in the bazar so that Ram Dass himself had to get out of the way.  It ought to be said that the horseman’s clothes did not fit him very well, that his saddle girth was helped out by a bit of rope, and that his charger was rather tender on his near fore-foot; but these are not things that would be noticed in Rubbulgurh, being lost in the general splendour of his appearance.

Sonny Sahib ran after the horseman with all the other boys, until, to everybody’s astonishment, he stopped with tremendous prancings at Tooni’s mud doorstep, where she sat to watch him go by.  Then Sonny Sahib slipped away.  He was afraid—­he did not know of what.  He ran half a mile beyond the village, and helped Sumpsi Din keep the parrots out of his father’s millet crop all day long.  Nor did he say a word to Sumpsi Din about it, for fear he should be persuaded to go back again.  Instead, he let Sumpsi Din sleep for long hours at a time face-downwards on his arm in the sun, which was what Sumpsi Din liked best in the world, while he, Sonny Sahib, clapped his hands a hundred times at the little green thieves, abusing them roundly, and wondering always at the back of his head why so splendid a horseman should have stopped at his particular doorstep.  So it was not until the evening, when he came back very hungry, hoping the horseman would be gone, that he heard Tooni’s wonderful news.  Before she gave him water or oil, or even a chupatty, Tooni told him, holding his hand in hers.

’The Maharajah has sent for you, O noonday kite; where have you been in the sun?  The Maharajah has sent for you, lotus-eyed one, and I, though I am grown too old for journeys, must go also to the palace of the Maharajah!  Oh, it is very far, and I know not what he desires, the Maharajah!  My heart is split in two, little Sahib!  This khaber is the cat’s moon to me.  I will never sleep again!’