id Cyril, 'we've come from the great Empire on which the sun
never sets.'

'I thought somehow that you'd come from some odd, out-of-the-way spot,'
said the priest with courtesy.

'And we've seen a good many palaces. We thought we should like to see a
Temple, for a change,' said Robert.

The Psammead stirred uneasily in its embroidered bag.

'Have you brought gifts to the Temple?' asked the priest cautiously.

'We HAVE got some gifts,' said Cyril with equal caution. 'You see
there's magic mixed up in it. So we can't tell you everything. But we
don't want to give our gifts for nothing.'

'Beware how you insult the god,' said the priest sternly. 'I also can
do magic. I can make a waxen image of you, and I can say words which, as
the wax image melts before the fire, will make you dwindle away and at
last perish miserably.'

'Pooh!' said Cyril stoutly, 'that's nothing. _I_ can make FIRE itself!'

'I should jolly well like to see you do it,' said the priest
unbelievingly.

'Well, you shall,' said Cyril, 'nothing easier. Just stand close round
me.'

'Do you need no preparation--no fasting, no incantations?' The priest's
tone was incredulous.

'The incantation's quite short,' said Cyril, taking the hint; 'and as
for fasting, it's not needed in MY sort of magic. Union Jack, Printing
Press, Gunpowder, Rule Britannia! Come, Fire, at the end of this little
stick!'

He had pulled a match from his pocket, and as he ended the incantation
which contained no words that it seemed likely the Egyptian had ever
heard he stooped in the little crowd of his relations and the priest and
struck the match on his boot. He stood up, shielding the flame with one
hand.

'See?' he said, with modest pride. 'Here, take it into your hand.'

'No, thank you,' said the priest, swiftly backing. 'Can you do that
again?'

'Yes.'

'Then come with me to the great double house of Pharaoh. He loves good
magic, and he will raise you to honour and glory. There's no need of
secrets between initiates,' he went on confidentially. 'The fact is,
I am out of favour at present owing to a little matter of failure of
prophecy. I told him a beautiful princess would be sent to him from
Syria, and, lo! a woman thirty years old arrived. But she WAS a
beautiful woman not so long ago. Time is only a mode of thought, you
know.'

The children thrilled to the familiar words.

'So you know that too, do you?' said Cyril.

'It is part of the mystery of all mag