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 The kings put their cartouches on the bottom—a sort of seal, you see. Each Pharaoh had his own cartouche—a lot of hieroglyphics carved on his scarabs, and statues, and his tomb, and whatever else belonged to him, so that every one knew at once whose it was."

At last Fen handed the scarabs back to Siddereticus with a little sigh.

"Oh, those are yours!" said the Djinn; "I can get more when I want them." And even as he spoke, he held a tiny blue one between his thumb and finger.

"Oh!" cried Fen, laying his head back against the pillows, bewildered, "you are wonderful! And are these really and truly mine?" he added, in a rather awed voice.

"I'm afraid I can't get you an Arab," said Siddereticus, looking vaguely about him again; "but I can fetch quite a splendid creature,—a slave of mine, in fact." 15