“That’s where the mummies and sacred cats come from!” cried Tibbs. “And Arab steeds, and Bedouins! We shall have a ripping time there!”
“’Es, it will be beautiful if there are lots of Mummies. We can have one each, and heaps of cuddles!” cried Kiddiwee.
“Oh, they’re not that kind,” explained his brother. “They’re not like Celia’s mummie. These mummies are all dried up, and yellow, and wrapt up in thousands of bandages.”
“Well, there’s not much difference—’cept the bandages,” said Kiddiwee.
“Oh! You’re very, very, very rude!” cried Coppertop. “Mummie may be a little wee bit thin and sunburnt, but people from India are all like that, and she’s beautiful underneath.”
There was an uncomfortable silence after this. Then Tibbs said—
“Well, come on, you people! There’s no time to lose. Let’s make a start.”
“But which way do we go?” asked Coppertop, screwing up her eyes with a puzzled expression.
“Oh, I know the way,” said Tibbs. “Just follow me.”
And off they flew, their wings glinting in the bright sunlight.