“Oh—­h—­h!” said she admiringly, standing flat and patting the nearest paw.  “I do like you though you do fwighten me when you walk so softly in my dweams—­oh—­h—­h!”

She shivered with ecstasy as the tiger rolled on its back, displaying its soft white belly as it bit its hind foot with the abandon of a baby, then turned on its side, and leaping sideways to its feet, slunk off to the far corner of the miserable den, which is all a civilised country gives a wild animal in exchange for its jungle home.

Meanwhile the Higgins brood, like hungry sparrows on a rail, were sitting open-mouthed on the lower steps provided for the benefit of those spectators who wish to revel with safety in the degrading sight of the royal beasts fed with lumps of bleeding meat pushed through the lower bar on the end of a prong.

Rendered somewhat incoherent by fear, and haste, allied to the ghastly English she had acquired in the streets and been allowed to retain in the Council School, Gertrude Ellen had found it somewhat difficult to arouse the keeper to a realisation of the impending disaster.

But when he did look over his shoulder in the direction her dirty little hand was pointing he swore a mighty oath and acted promptly.

“Keep still, Sir, for the love of heaven!” he whispered, catching hold of Jan Cuxson’s arm as the latter made a step forward.  “Don’t let that there animal see yer, he’s the blamedest, cussedest brute I’ve ever had to do with.  Never had a civil growl from him since he came here over three years ago.”

Whilst speaking the man had hurriedly discarded his boots and climbed inside the barrier, whilst Cuxson held the child quiet by her thin little shoulders.

“Damn that woman,” went on the keeper, “why can’t she keep still.  Sure as blazes if that there tiger sees her, which don’t mean if he’s looking at her, he’ll go nasty and have that missy’s ’and off.”

Mrs. Higgins, having clumped her brood into silence, was making frantic and what she imagined to be surreptitious signals of distress with her left arm, keeping her eyes glued on Leonie, who was clinging to the bars with both hands whilst calling upon the tiger to come back.

He came back, half crouched, noiselessly, stealthily, the hair of the belly almost touching the ground, for all the world like a cat about to spring upon an unsuspecting sparrow.

He came to a standstill within an inch of the bars and threw his pointed ears straight forward so that they stood out at right angles to the beautifully marked face; spasmodically twitched back the mouth without a sound issuing therefrom, and then lay down and pressed his head against the bars.

The tiny hand was stroking the silky ears, patting the head, and prodding contentedly into the thick fur of the neck when suddenly with a mighty heart-quaking roar the tiger leapt up and back, and then hurled himself at the bars.