misery like me--perhaps-you are right; but for me--you have spoilt my
life; you have crippled not my body only but my soul, and have condemned
me to sufferings that are nameless and unutterable."

The dwarf's big head sank on his breast, and with his left hand he
pressed his heart.

The old woman went up to him kindly.

"What ails you?" she asked, "I thought it was well with you in Mena's
house."

"You thought so?" cried the dwarf. "You who show me as in a mirror what
I am, and how mysterious powers throng and stir in me? You made me what
I am by your arts; you sold me to the treasurer of Rameses, and he gave
me to the father of Mena, his brother-in-law. Fifteen years ago! I was
a young man then, a youth like any other, only more passionate, more
restless, and fiery than they. I was given as a plaything to the young
Mena, and he harnessed me to his little chariot, and dressed me out with
ribbons and feathers, and flogged me when I did not go fast enough. How
the girl--for whom I would have given my life--the porter's daughter,
laughed when I, dressed up in motley, hopped panting in front of the
chariot and the young lord's whip whistled in my ears wringing the sweat
from my brow, and the blood from my broken heart. Then Mena's father
died, the boy, went to school, and I waited on the wife of his steward,
whom Katuti banished to Hermonthis. That was a time! The little
daughter of the house made a doll of me,

[Dolls belonging to the time of the Pharaohs are preserved in the
museums, for instance, the jointed ones at Leyden.]