ast field of knowledge, the
rest will follow. The flowers you will find by the wayside will lure
you onward, even when the path is stony and difficult."

"I suppose I had better begin with Buddha," said Vixen, with a hard and
resolute manner that scarcely seemed like the burning desire for
knowledge newly kindled in the breast of a youthful student. "That is
beginning at the beginning, is it not?"

"No, my dear. In comparison with the priesthood of Egypt, Buddha is
contemptibly modern. If we want the beginning of things, we must revert
to Egypt, that cradle of learning and civilisation."

"Then let me begin with Egypt!" cried Vixen impatiently. "I don't care
a bit how I begin. I want occupation for my mind."

"Did I not say so?" exclaimed Miss Skipwith, full of ardent welcome for
the neophyte whose steps had been so tardy in approaching the shrine.
"That pallor, those haggard eyes are indications of a troubled mind;
and no mind can be free from trouble when it lacks an object. We create
our own sorrows."

"Yes, we are wretched creatures!" cried Vixen passionately, "the
poorest examples of machinery in all this varied universe. Look at that
cow in your orchard, her dull placid life, inoffensive, useful, asking
nothing but a fertile meadow and a sunny day to fill her cup of
happiness. Why did the great Creator make the lower animals exempt from
sorrow, and give us such an infinite capacity for grief and pain? It
seems hardly fair."

"My dear, our Creator gave us minds, and the power of working out our
own salvation," replied Miss Skipwith. "Here are half-a-dozen volumes.
In these you will find the history of Egyptian theology, from the
golden age of the god Ra to the dark and troubled period of Persian
invasion. Some of these works are purely philosophical. I should
recommend you to read the historical volumes first. Make copious notes
of what you read, and do not hesitate to refer to me when you are
puzzled."

"I am afraid that will be very often," said Vixen, piling up the books
in her arms with a somewhat hopeless air. "I am not at all clever; but
I want to employ my mind."

She carried the books up to her bedroom, and arranged them on a stout
old oak table, which Mrs. Doddery had found for her accommodation. She
opened her desk, and put a quire of paper ready for any notes she might
be tempted to make, and then she began, steadily and laboriously, with
a dry-as-dust history of ancient Egypt.

Oh, how her p