Rhamon and his father climbed up a steep flight of steps from the water and entered a dark and dingy building. It seemed hundreds of years old. An aged man led them between dusty piles of wonderful carved wood.
When Rhamon's eyes became used to the dim light, he saw half-naked men sitting cross-legged on the earth floor, busily carving. The boy stopped to watch one old man in the doorway. He was working on a large tray which he propped against the split log that served for a table. The pattern was so fine that he used a magnifying glass to see what he was doing.
"My child," he told Rhamon, "for many months have I worked on this tray. But now, praise Allah, it is about finished, and it shall be given to our King—the great Rajah—as a gift from one of his humble subjects."
"Everyone is making ready for the coming of the Rajah," thought Rhamon sadly, "everyone but me. And I shall not even see him."
Going home Rhamon helped his father pad-
