Katuti did not observe her daughter’s blush, for she was looking anxiously out at the garden gate, and said:
“Where can Nemu be! There must be some news arrived for us from the army.”
“Mena has not written for so long,” Nefert said softly. “Ah! here is the steward!”
Katuti turned to the officer, who had entered the veranda through a side door:
“What do you bring,” she asked.
“The dealer Abscha,” was the answer, “presses for payment. The new Syrian chariot and the purple cloth—”
“Sell some corn,” ordered Katuti.
“Impossible, for the tribute to the temples is not yet paid, and already so much has been delivered to the dealers that scarcely enough remains over for the maintenance of the household and for sowing.”
“Then pay with beasts.”
“But, madam,” said the steward sorrowfully, “only yesterday, we again sold a herd to the Mohar; and the water-wheels must be turned, and the corn must be thrashed, and we need beasts for sacrifice, and milk, butter, and cheese, for the use of the house, and dung for firing.”