I would as soon think of going ashore without my needle-case as without my white umbrella, Mr. Stephens.  Then as I warmed on the job I got into the room—­such a room!—­and I packed the folks out of it, and I fairly did the chores as if I had been the hired help.  I’ve seen no more of that temple of Abou-Simbel than if I had never left Boston; but, my sakes, I saw more dust and mess than you would think they could crowd into a house the size of a Newport bathing-hut.  From the time I pinned up my skirt until I came out with my face the colour of that smoke-stack, wasn’t more than an hour, or maybe an hour and a half, but I had that house as clean and fresh as a new pine-wood box.  I had a New York Herald with me, and I lined their shelf with paper for them.  Well, Mr. Stephens, when I had done washing my hands outside, I came past the door again, and there were those two children sitting on the stoop with their eyes full of flies, and all just the same as ever, except that each had a little paper cap made out of the New York Herald upon his head.  But, say, Sadie, it’s going on to ten o’clock, and to-morrow an early excursion.”

“It’s just too beautiful, this purple sky and the great silver stars,” said Sadie.  “Look at the silent desert and the black shadows of the hills.  It’s grand, but it’s terrible too; and then when you think that we really are, as that dragoman said just now, on the very end of civilisation, and with nothing but savagery and bloodshed down there where the Southern Cross is twinkling so prettily, why, it’s like standing on the beautiful edge of a live volcano.”

“Shucks, Sadie, don’t talk like that, child,” said the older woman nervously.  “It’s enough to scare any one to listen to you.”

“Well, but don’t you feel it yourself, Auntie?  Look at that great desert stretching away and away until it is lost in the shadows.  Hear the sad whisper of the wind across it!  It’s just the most solemn thing that ever I saw in my life.”

“I’m glad we’ve found something that will make you solemn, my dear,” said her Aunt.  “I’ve sometimes thought—­Sakes alive, what’s that?”

From somewhere amongst the hill shadows upon the other side of the river there had risen a high shrill whimpering, rising and swelling, to end in a long weary wail.

“It’s only a jackal, Miss Adams,” said Stephens.  “I heard one when we went out to see the Sphinx by moonlight.”

But the American lady had risen, and her face showed that her nerves had been ruffled.

“If I had my time over again I wouldn’t have come past Assouan,” said she.  “I can’t think what possessed me to bring you all the way up here, Sadie.  Your mother will think that I am clean crazy, and I’d never dare to look her in the eye if anything went wrong with us.  I’ve seen all I want to see of this river, and all I ask now is to be back at Cairo again.”

“Why, Auntie,” cried the girl, “it isn’t like you to be faint-hearted.”