If he could work it out ’rithmetic’lly,—
Threw down his bag, regardless of its worth,
And sat himself upon dear Mother Earth;
There bask’d, as ’twere, full in old Horus’ eye,
Whilst she, expecting him,[227] could almost cry—
So sad was this suspense; but when he came,
The joy she felt relieved the man from blame.
Now her sweet features glowed with ruddy hue,
And as she read the letter through and through
She seem’d to pause at one particular place,