“That’s where he’s gone!  I guess I’ll go home now, while I have the chance.”

“Better wait, Jim, till you’re sure he isn’t round.”

Jim followed this sensible advice, staying to supper, to which he was always welcome.

The women had received so great a shock, that they could not recover from it as quickly as the volatile youngsters.  The shutters and doors were kept fastened, and every few minutes they peeped out in quest of the tiger that showed so much enmity toward them.  When darkness closed in, however, not the first glimpse had been caught of him, and all began to hope he had taken his final departure.  Mrs. Gordon gave her consent that Jimmy Travers should start homeward; and, promising to keep a sharp lookout for the creature, he departed.  It may as well be added that he saw nothing more of Tippo Sahib, nor did the animal pay any visit to his home.

“Helloa! the house there!”

This was the startling summons that rang out in the stillness of the night, about two hours after the departure of Jimmy Travers.  Mrs. Gordon stepped to the door, and with some misgiving drew it open.  The full moon was shining brightly, and she saw two horsemen who had halted in the highway opposite the gate.

“Good-evening!” said the spokesman, lifting his hat in salutation when he observed the woman; “have you seen anything of a strange animal in this neighborhood, madam?  We have traced him almost to this spot, but have lost track of him.”

“Do you refer to the tiger that escaped from the menagerie this afternoon?”

“That’s the animal we’re looking for.”

“Yes; he was here late in the afternoon, and tried to jump through the window.”

“Did he hurt any one?” asked the man in alarm.

“No; we did not receive a scratch.  My son shot him.”

“What!” exclaimed the other; “did he kill the animal?”

“Oh, no,” answered Mrs. Gordon (who was joined by Aunt Cynthia and Tom), smiling at the fear of the visitors; “my boy is quite young, and isn’t much of a marksman; he thinks he hit the beast”—­

“And I did too,” interjected the lad, not pleased with this slur upon his skill with the gun.

“Possibly he did; but he was not injured much.”

“I am glad to learn that.  The tiger is one of the most valuable animals we have in the menagerie; I should be very sorry to lose him.”

“But,” interposed Aunt Cynthia, “it may become necessary to shoot him in self-defense.”

“Not likely; he is not apt to injure any one if he is let alone.”

Tom had not forgotten the appalling stories told by Jim Travers on his arrival from the exhibition.

“I heered he chawed up Sam Harper, Jack Habersham, Bill Dunham, and a whole lot of folks that was at the circus.”

The laughter of the two horsemen was hearty.

“Those youngsters are alive and well.  The boy who punched the tiger in the eye, and caused all this rumpus, was knocked down and scratched somewhat, but not half as much as he deserved.  No one else, so far as we can learn, has been injured; though, as I remarked just now, Tippo Sahib will fight if he is driven into a corner.”