He had set up his camp outside a large village and was sitting alone by his fire in the open air.

The night was very still, the sky dark but studded with stars extraordinarily bright--so bright, indeed, that Shere Ali could see upon the water of the river below the low cliff on which his camp fire was lit a trembling golden path made by the rays of a planet.
And as he sat, unexpectedly in the hush a boy with a clear, sweet voice began to sing from the darkness behind him.

The melody was plaintive and sweet; a few notes of a pipe accompanied him; and as Shere Ali listened in this high valley of the Himalayas on a summer's night, the music took hold upon him and wrung his heart.

The yearning for all that he had left behind became a pain almost beyond endurance.

The days of his boyhood and his youth went by before his eyes in a glittering procession.