THE LAST EVENING
smell, like long-dried rose-leaves, came from it, and at first he could see nothing. Then he saw, wrapped in wisps of dry grass, a little figure, blue with the matchless glaze of ancient Egypt—the figure of a seated man, a man with a bird's head, and hands resting on his knees. Fen gazed at it, breathless with wonder, while the dusk deepened and the blue glimmered more and more faintly. Then it was too dark to see at all, and Fen carefully wrapped the mysterious little image in the dry Nile grass and laid it in the brass-bound box. He put it under his pillow, and fell asleep with his cheek against the uncomfortable bump that it made.
Every one was ready to go ashore, and the launch puffed alongside. Sally was very busy putting two picnic-baskets into it. Fen's mother spoke to him as she pinned on her hat.
51
