hands he carried a queer little three-stringed instrument. Standing by the edge of the cliff he began to play.
As he drew his bow across the strings a sweet strange music filled the air. It told of fairies dancing in the moonlight, of running water, of springtime flowers and sunshine. Rhamon stood beside him and listened. Now the music sang of the loneliness of the mountains, of the coldness of their icy peaks, of cruel storms and of people lost.
Rhamon would have liked to stay longer, but he heard the Sahib calling his name, so he ran to the car and climbed into his seat. Soon they were driving down the narrow mountain road once more. The music of the strolling player was lost in the distance.
_vignette_5.png)
