Early the next morning, wiping sleep from his eyes, Ben stepped from his house. He blinked at the huge golden sun, still very low in the sky. The sun gleamed on the river a short distance from the village. It was one of many channels cut by the Nile River as it wandered across its flat, fertile delta on its way to the sea.

Away from the river, in the other direction, Ben could see the gleaming city of Rameses, where Pharaoh lived. North and east of Rameses stretched the land of Goshen, where for hundreds of years Ben’s people, the Israelites, had lived. But the Israelites were no longer welcome in Egypt. Now they were little better than slaves.

Ben stepped out into the narrow, sandy street and walked away from the river. His mother had asked him to run to the marketplace for some dried fish. The shortest way to the marketplace was to walk down to the river and take the river path. But Ben decided to take the longer way so that he wouldn’t have to walk near the water.

He’d been walking for only a few minutes when up ahead in a narrow passageway between two tall mud-brick buildings, he saw two dogs. They weren’t big dogs. But they were circling each other, growling and showing their teeth. He stood waiting, watching. Maybe the dogs would chase each other somewhere else.

He stood too long. He felt something on his shoulder, and when he looked down, there was a scarab beetle, bright and green, crawling toward his neck! With a shriek, Ben brushed it away —and heard a sudden burst of laughter from behind him. Whirling around, he saw several of the neighborhood boys. One of them picked up the beetle and held it out toward Ben, a mischievous grin on his face. “Hey, you dropped your pet! Want him in your pocket?”

Ben backed away quickly.

“Come on —afraid of a little old bug?” One of the boys laughed. Then he flung something directly at Ben, who screeched and backed away. The thing dropped near him. Just a stick.

Because Ben was small for his age and not a fighter, he relied on his words and his wits to get him out of tight situations like this. With his heart still beating rapidly and his breath quick and shallow, he opened his mouth to say something —anything —and suddenly he was drenched with cold water!

Leaping in fear, sputtering, yelling, he spun around yet again. There was another boy from the village, still holding the dripping bucket he’d emptied over Ben’s head.

“Why are you shaking, River Boy?” the boy asked, laughing. “The water too cold? Or are you just . . . scared?”

Of course I’m scared, Ben thought. And all these boys know it. Why don’t they just leave me alone?

“How about this, River Boy? Want a bite?” One of the boys thrust a frog into Ben’s face —a dry, tired, sick-looking frog that was obviously being squeezed way too tight.

“Hey, you’re hurting him!” Ben protested, then reached out and took the frog.

Frogs were one of the few things Ben wasn’t afraid of. He’d had frogs for pets, in fact, and he knew that this frog needed to get back into the water if he was to survive. Ben held it back out to the other boy. “Take him back to the river. He’s going to die if he doesn’t —”

“You take him back, River Boy!”

Ben hesitated. “No, I —”

“You’re afraid, that’s what! Just like you’re afraid of bugs and snakes and dogs and cats —”

“I’m not afraid of cats!”

Ben wasn’t quite sure why that sent the boys into fits of laughter.

“Oh, he’s not afraid of cats! Did you hear that? There’s something he’s not afraid of!”

“Maybe that’s because he’s never met the right cat!”

“Leave him alone,” said a quiet voice.