"What relation do they bear to each other?" said I.
"This is the old man's youngest son. He is a weak fool, my lord, about him, and though, as you see, he can hardly carry a full load for himself, he will try and add to his own, a part of the bricks the boy should bear. Come, old man, leave the boy and on to your work!"
The aged Hebrew raised to my face a look of despair trembling with mute appeal, as if he expected no interposition, yet had no other hope left.
"Leave them here," I said. "I will be responsible for the act."
"But I am under a chief captain who will make me account to him for every brick not delivered. The tale of bricks that leaves the plain and that which is received are taken and compared. I have a certain number of men and boys under me, and they have to make up in their loads a given tale of bricks between sun and sun. If they fail, I lose my wages!" This was spoken sullenly.
"What is thy day's wages?" I demanded.
"A quarter of a scarabæus," he answered. This is the common cheap coin, bearing the sacred beetle cut in stone, copper, lead, and even wood. Higher values are represented by silver, bronze, brass, and gold rings. Money in disk-form I have not yet heard of in Egypt. An Egyptian's purse is a necklace of gold rings of greater or less value. The scarabæus is often broken in four pieces, each fraction containing a hieroglyphic. The value is about equal to a Syrian neffir.
I placed in his hand a copper scarabæus, and said: "Go thy way! This shall justify thee to thy conscience. These Hebrews are too helpless to be of further service to thee this day."
The taskmaster took the money with a smile of gratification, and at once left the court of the fountain. The old Hebrew looked at me with grateful surprise, caught my hand, pressed it to his heart, and then covered it with kisses. I smiled upon him with friendly sympathy, and, stooping down, raised the head of the young man upon my knee. By our united aid he was soon restored to sensibility.
But, my dear mother, I will, with your permission, continue my narrative in another letter. The trumpets, which from the temple of Osiris proclaim that the last rays of the setting sun are disappearing from its summit, also warn me to draw my letter to a close. The incense of the altar rises into the blue and golden sky, and typifies prayer. I will receive the lesson it teaches, and retire to my oratory and pray, O mother, for thy health and happiness and the prosperity of thy reign.