“What do you mean to do?” she asked of the boys, as they rushed into her presence.

“I’m going to load the gun,” replied Tom.  “I don’t know what Jim is driving at.”

The women were naturally alarmed at the persistency of the wild animal in his demonstration against the dwelling.  It did look as if he was bent on revenging himself for the hurt that had been inflicted.  Many of the wild beasts of India, like the frightful cobra, often show great tenacity in attacking those from whom they have received injury.

“If the tiger will go away, you had better leave him alone,” said Aunt Cynthia.  “Your shot doesn’t seem to have hurt him at all.”

“Yes, it did,” insisted Tom.  “I hit him, for he jumped.”

“But you only made him more angry; I am afraid we are not through with him yet.”

The rifle was of the old-fashioned, muzzle-loading kind, and Aunt Cynthia gave what help she could to her nephew, as he began reloading it.  From the powder flask she poured a charge down the barrel, upon which Tom pressed the conical bullet, wrapped about with a small bit of greased muslin.  Then he had only to place a percussion-cap on the tube, and he was ready for business.

But before this stage of the proceedings was reached, something startling happened.

Jim Travers paid no heed to what his young friend was doing.  Stooping over the burning wood in the fireplace, the flame of which was quite feeble, because the day was mild, he began fanning it with his hat.  He was thus employed, and Tom was in the act of capping the rifle, when a crash against the nearest shutter made the building tremble.

The startled inmates stared trembling in each other’s faces.

“It’s the tiger!” whispered Mrs. Gordon, uttering a truth that was manifest to every one.

“He is determined to get at us,” added Aunt Cynthia.  “What shall we do?”

“I’ll fetch him this time,” was the confident response of Tom, “if I can only get a fair aim.”

“You had better let me have the gun,” said his mother, who was in a momentary panic.

“Let me try it once more.”

“But there is no chance here; it will not do to open the shutter:  he will spring right in among us.”

“Up-stairs is the best place,” said Tom, hurrying up the steps again.

Meanwhile, Jim Travers, who had been so terrified, displayed more coolness than any one in the house.  Probably he felt so much confidence in his new scheme, that he was warranted in this self-possession.

Like the rest, he was startled by the crash against the shutter.  He rose to his feet, stared at the window, and, seeing that the beast had not broken through, stooped and resumed fanning the blaze with more vigor than ever.  At this juncture Tom called from above,—­

“Where is he?  I can’t see him.”

He had peered from the front and rear windows without catching sight of the tiger.  The reason was evident:  the animal was so near the house that he could not be observed without raising the sash and thrusting out the head.  It was well the lad was too prudent to do that.