Mrs. Peterkin therefore disliked to be long away from the Sphinx, and their excursion up the Nile had been shortened on this account.  All the Nubian guides near the pyramids had been furnished with additional backsheesh and elaborate explanations from Mr. Peterkin as to how they should send him information if Solomon John and the little boys should turn up at the Sphinx,—­for all the family agreed they would probably appear in Egypt together.

Mrs. Peterkin regretted not having any photographs to leave with the guides; but Elizabeth Eliza, alas! had lost at Brindisi the hand-bag that contained the family photograph-book.

Mrs. Peterkin would have liked to take up her residence near the Sphinx for the rest of the year.  But every one warned her that the heat of an Egyptian summer would not allow her to stay at Cairo,—­scarcely even on the sea-shore, at Alexandria.

How thankful was Mrs. Peterkin, a few months after, when the war in Egypt broke out, that her wishes had not been yielded to!  For many nights she could not sleep, picturing how they all might have been massacred by the terrible mob in Alexandria.

Intelligence of Solomon John led them to take their departure.

One day, they were discussing at the table d’hote their letters from the lady from Philadelphia, and how they showed that Solomon John had been at Geneva.

“Ah, there was his mistake!” said Elizabeth Eliza.  “The Doolittles left Marseilles with us, and were to branch off for Geneva, and we kept on to Genoa, and Solomon John was always mistaking Genoa for Geneva, as we planned our route.  I remember there was a great confusion when they got off.”

“I always mix up Geneva and Genoa,” said Mrs. Peterkin.  “I feel as if they were the same.”

“They are quite different,” said Elizabeth Eliza; “and Genoa lay in our route, while Geneva took him into Switzerland.”

An English gentleman, on the opposite side of the table, then spoke to Mr. Peterkin.

“I beg pardon,” he said.  “I think I met one of your name in Athens.  He attracted our attention because he went every day to the same spot, and he told us he expected to meet his family there,—­that he had an appointment by telegraph—­”

“In Athens!” exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin.

“Was his name Solomon John?” asked Elizabeth Eliza.

“Were there two little boys?” inquired Mrs. Peterkin.

“His initials were the same as mine,” replied the Englishman,—­“S.J.P.,—­for some of his luggage came by mistake into my room, and that is why I spoke of it.”

“Is there a Sphinx in Athens?” Mrs. Peterkin inquired.

“There used to be one there,” said Agamemnon.

“I beg your pardon,” said the Englishman, “but that Sphinx never was in Athens.”

“But Solomon John may have made the mistake,—­we all make our mistakes,” said Mrs. Peterkin, tying her bonnet-strings, as if ready to go to meet Solomon John at that moment.