England -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; Spiritualism -- Fiction
Archie was frightened of his father, and always went warily by the door
of the room at the dark corner of the hall where this tremendous person
lived. There were other dangers about that corner, for on the floor were
two tiger-skins which looked as if the animal in question had, with the
exception of its head, been squashed out flat, like as when he and
Blessington sometimes put a flower they had gathered on their walks
between two sheets of blotting-paper, and piled books on the top, so
that it ceased to be a flower, and became the map of a flower. Archie
wished the tigers' heads had been pressed in the same way; as it was,
they were disconcertingly solid and life-like, with long teeth and
snarling mouths and glaring eyes. He had always made Blessington come
right up to his father's door with him when he went in to say
good-night, so that she should pilot him safely past the tigers on his
entry and escort him by them again on his return. But one night his
father had come out with him, and, finding Blessington waiting there,
had divined, as by some awful black magic, why the nurse was waiting,
and had decreed that Archie should in future make his way across the
danger zone unattended. But, next evening, the trembling Archie,
hurrying away in the dusk, had fallen down on the glassy sea between the
awful Scylla and Charybdis, and, convinced that his last hour had come,
when these two cruel heads beheld him prostrate on the floor, had cried
himself to sleep from terror of that awful ending. But next day his
mother, who understood about things in general better than anybody, had
caused the tigers to make friends with him, and in token of their amity
they had each of them presented him with a whisker-hair. That assured
their friendship, and they wished it to be understood that their
snarlings and glarings were directed, not at Archie, but at Archie's
enemies. This naturally changed their whole aspect, and Archie, after he
had wished his father good-night, kissed the hairy heads that had once
been so terrifying, and thanked them for successfully keeping his
enemies from molesting him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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