"Evening was falling as across the plain of Háhá trudged a weary traveller. The cold wind whistled through his tattered garments. The path grew dim before his eyes. The stars came out one by one, but no star of hope shone for him. He was faint and hungry. His feet were sore. His head ached. He shivered.
"'May God have pity on me!' he muttered.
"God heard him. A few minutes later he descried an earthly star—a solitary light was twinkling on the distant hillside. Thitherward he turned his steps.
"Hope rose within him. His step grew brisk. The way seemed clear. Onward he pushed.
"Presently he could make out the huts of a village.
"'Thank God!' he cried; but still he had no supper.
"His empty stomach clamoured. His purse was empty also. The fiendish dogs of the village yelped at him. He paused discomfited. He called.
"Widow Záïdah stood before her light.
"'Who's there?'
"'A God-guest'