The Tiger on the Hudson. 67

his Christmas holidays was: “Will you tell me
the story of the tiger, Uncle, for I am now ten,
you know ?”’ |

Uncle Ned smiled, and said: “Come into my
den at five this afternoon, and I will tell you all
about it.”

So after luncheon, and after two hours spent
in coasting, Harry went to the den. His uncle
had not yet come in, and he found, on looking at
the funny little bronze clock on the mantelpiece,
that it was only quarter-past four.

Harry was tired, and threw himself into Uncle
Ned’s big leather chair to wait. It had already
grown quite dark outside, for the December days
were short. But the room was not dark, for there
was a glorious fire, blazing triumphantly up the
chimney, shining upon all the curious interesting
things in the room, and showing distinctly each
mark, spot, and stripe on the beautiful tiger-skin.

The tiger’s head had been stuffed, and two
fearfully life-like, green eyes had been placed in it.
Harry used to be quite afraid to look into them,
they were so awfully real. He was looking at