prayers, though like silvery birds flying
heavenward, did not reach their destination. And the divine Amon, to
whom no voice of the earth came at any time, dropped his hands on his
knees, and sank ever deeper in meditation over his own divinity, while
on the earth blind force and chance ruled without interruption.

All at once the pharaoh heard the voice of a woman, "Rogue! Little
rogue! come in, Thou unruly, it is time for prayers."

"This minute! this minute!" answered the voice of the little child.

The sovereign looked toward the point whence the voice came and saw the
poor hut of a cattle scribe. The hut owner had finished his register in
the light of the setting sun, his wife was grinding flour for a cake,
and before the house, like a young kid, was running and jumping the
six-year-old little boy, laughing, it was unknown for what reason.

The evening air full of sweetness had given him delight, that was
evident.

"Rogue! Little rogue! come here to me for a prayer," repeated the
woman.

"This minute! this minute!"

And again he ran with delight as if wild.

At last the mother, seeing that the sun was beginning to sink in the
sands of the desert, put away her mill stones, and, going out, seized
the boy, who raced around like a little colt. He resisted but gave way
to superior force finally. The mother, drawing him to the hut as
quickly as possible, held him with her hand so that he might not escape
from her.

"Do not twist," said she, "put thy feet under thee, sit upright, put
thy hands together and raise them upward. Ah, Thou bad boy!"

The boy knew that he could not escape now; so to be free again as soon
as possible he raised his eyes and hands heavenward piously, and with a
thin squeaky voice, he said,

"O kind, divine Amon, I thank thee, Thou hast kept my papa today from
misfortune, Thou hast given wheat for cakes to my mamma. What more?
Thou hast made heaven. I thank thee. And the earth, and sent down the
Nile which brings bread to us. And what more? Aha, I know now! And I
thank thee because out-of-doors it is so beautiful, and flowers are
growing there, and birds singing and the palms give us sweet dates. For
these good things which Thou hast given us, may all love thee as I do,
and praise thee better than I can, for I am a little boy yet and I have
not learned wisdom. Well, is that enough, mamma?"

"Bad boy!" muttered the cattle scribe, bending over his register. "Bad
boy! Thou art giving ho