y close to the awning over the girl, the bitter cry of a child was
heard, and a little boy came forward who held, as high as he could reach,
a little cake, of which the dog, who seemed to know him well, had
snatched half.

"How do you come here, Scherau?" the paraschites asked the weeping boy;
the unfortunate child that Hekt was bringing up as a dwarf.

"I wanted," sobbed the little one, "to bring the cake to Uarda. She is
ill--I had so much--"

"Poor child," said the paraschites, stroking the boy's hair; "there-give
it to Uarda."

Scherau went up to the sick girl, knelt down by her, and whispered with
streaming eyes:

"Take it! It is good, and very sweet, and if I get another cake, and Hekt
will let me out, I will bring it to you.

"Thank you, good little Scherau," said Uarda, kissing the child. Then she
turned to Pentaur and said:

"For weeks he has had nothing but papyrus-pith, and lotus-bread, and now
he brings me the cake which grandmother gave old Hekt yesterday."

The child blushed all over, and stammered:

"It is only half--but I did not touch it. Your dog bit out this piece,
and this."

He touched the honey with the tip of his finger, and put it to his lips.
"I was a long time behind the reeds there, for I did not like to come out
because of the strangers there." He pointed to Nebsecht and Pentaur. "But
now I must go home," he cried.

The child was going, but Pentaur stopped him, seized him, lifted him up
in his arms and kissed him; saying, as he turned to Nebsecht:

"They were wise, who represented Horus--the symbol of the triumph of good
over evil and of purity over the impure--in the form of a child. Bless
you, my little friend; be good, and always give away what you have to
make others happy. It will not make your house rich--but it will your
heart!"

Scherau clung to the priest, and involuntarily raised his little hand to
stroke Pentaur's cheek. An unknown tenderness had filled his little
heart, and he felt as if he must throw his arms round the poet's neck and
cry upon his breast.

But Pentaur set him down on the ground, and he trotted down into the
valley. There he paused. The sun was high in the heavens, and he must
return to the witch's cave and his board, but he would so much like to go
a little farther--only as far as to the king's tomb, which was quite
near.

Close by the door of this tomb was a thatch of palm-branches, and under
this the sculptor Batau, a very aged man, was accu