When Rhamon climbed out on the deck of his own houseboat his mother put her arm around him. For a long time she didn't say anything. Wasn't she glad to see him? Under her long black lashes he couldn't tell whether she was laughing or crying. But that night when she cooked supper and he sat on the little rug in the corner listening to her singing, he thought she sounded happier than ever before.
After they had all eaten their evening meal Rhamon told Subro and his mother of the many wonderful sights he had seen in the big city: the snorting steam train, the great Mosque where he had said his prayers, the busy Bazaar with its hundreds of shops, the strange men who charmed the poison snakes, and his trip up the mountains with the gang of workmen.
Before he went to sleep he tucked his beautiful American penknife under his pillow. After all it was good to be home again on his houseboat—to see the stars from his window and the lights of the little Temple on the hill.
