` Gone -- all gone . Dost thou not know ? ' ' I know nothing , but that I have not seen thee in a monkey 's age . Know what ? ' ` Strange the knowledge did not reach out to thee , when all my thoughts were theeward . ' ' I can not see the face , but the voice is like a gong . Has the Sahiba made a young man of thee by her cookery ? ' He peered at the cross-legged figure , outlined jet-black against the lemon-coloured drift of light . So does the stone Bodhisat sit who looks down upon the patent self-registering turnstiles of the Lahore Museum . The lama held his peace . Except for the click of the rosary and a faint clop-clop of Mahbub 's retreating feet , the soft , smoky silence of evening in India wrapped them close . ` Hear me ! I bring news . ' ` But let us -- ' Out shot the long yellow hand compelling silence . Kim tucked his feet under his robe-edge obediently . ` Hear me ! I bring news ! The Search is finished . Comes now the Reward ... Thus . When we were among the Hills , I lived on thy strength till the young branch bowed and nigh broke .
When we came out of the XXXXX , I was troubled for thee and for other matters which I held in my heart .
Hills India Kim Museum cookery gong lama robe-edge rosary turnstiles