“It is a pity about the ring,” said Gagabu.  “And if the hand is not to follow it—­luckily it is your left hand—­leave off drinking, let yourself be taken to Nebsecht the surgeon, and get him to set the joints neatly, and bind them up.”

Paaker rose, and went away after Ameni had appointed to meet him on the following day at the Temple of Seti, and the Regent at the palace.

When the door had closed behind him, the treasurer of the temple said: 

“This has been a bad day for the Mohar, and perhaps it will teach him that here in Thebes he cannot swagger as he does in the field.  Another adventure occurred to him to-day; would you like to hear it?”

“Yes; tell it!” cried the guests.

“You all knew old Seni,” began the treasurer.  “He was a rich man, but he gave away all his goods to the poor, after his seven blooming sons, one after another, had died in the war, or of illness.  He only kept a small house with a little garden, and said that as the Gods had taken his children to themselves in the other world he would take pity on the forlorn in this.  ’Feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked’ says the law; and now that Seni has nothing more to give away, he goes through the city, as you know, hungry and thirsty himself, and scarcely clothed, and begging for his adopted children, the poor.  We have all given to him, for we all know for whom he humbles himself, and holds out his hand.  To-day he went round with his little bag, and begged, with his kind good eyes, for alms.  Paaker has given us a good piece of arable land, and thinks, perhaps with reason, that he has done his part.  When Seni addressed him, he told him to go; but the old man did not give up asking him, he followed him persistently to the grave of his father, and a great many people with him.  Then the pioneer pushed him angrily back, and when at last the beggar clutched his garment, he raised his whip, and struck him two or three times, crying out:  ‘There-that is your portion!’ The good old man bore it quite patiently, while he untied the bag, and said with tears in his eyes:  ’My portion—­yes—­but not the portion of the poor!’

“I was standing near, and I saw how Paaker hastily withdrew into the tomb, and how his mother Setchem threw her full purse to Seni.  Others followed her example, and the old man never had a richer harvest.  The poor may thank the Mohar!  A crowd of people collected in front of the tomb, and he would have fared badly if it had not been for the police guard who drove them away.”

During this narrative, which was heard with much approval—­for no one is more secure of his result than he who can tell of the downfall of a man who is disliked for his arrogance—­the Regent and the high-priest had been eagerly whispering to each other.

“There can be no doubt,” said Ameni, that Bent-Anat did actually come to the festival.”

“And had also dealings with the priest whom you so warmly defend,” whispered the other.