He played up to her. “I know what you are. You're a tiger. A big stripy tiger. 'Tiger! Tiger! burning bright-- In the forests of the night!'” “Say some more,” she demanded imperiously. “I like poetry.” “That's all I remember. I'll tell you; I'll be a keeper, and I'll come to the cage to feed you.” He felt in his pocket and produced a fresh stick of gum which he thrust through the wire meshes. Being a realist, Paula promptly bit him on the finger. “Ow!” he exclaimed and dropped the gum. She pounced upon it, growling ferociously. “You play awfully hard, don't you?” he observed, caressing the mark of a sharp little tooth. “You have to when you don't have anybody but yourself to play with, or it isn't real,” replied the child with unconscious pathos. “Now I'm going to eat this all up!” “Don't swallow it,” he warned. “You just chew it. It's gum.” “Um-m-m!” mumbled the Tiger appreciatively. “I like it. I like you. When do you have to go back to your cloud?” She looked up apprehensively at that fleecy domicile which was moving rapidly away. “Oh, any time. No, I'll tell you,” he added confidentially; “I didn't really come from the cloud. I came from that roof up there.” “How?” “Down a rope.” “Did you? I like that almost as well. Where did you get the rope?” “It was over the fire escape. I live on the top floor there.” “S'posen you'd fall right down between the two houses,” surmised the little Tiger. “Then I'd be killed.” This, as a matter of fact, was highly probable. But Carlo, like most of the highland Italians, was strong, supple, and daring; ingenious, too, for he had made loops in his rope to help him climb up again. Paula the Tiger was now considering cognate matters with appropriate gravity. “I think I'd rather have you live in the cloud,” she decided. “Angels live in clouds. If you 're an angel, you won't fall and get killed,” she continued, finding a kindly refuge in theology. “I'd rather have you an angel.” “All right. I'll be an angel,” he agreed. “Nurse doesn't let me play with little boys and girls. Maybe she wouldn't let me play with an angel either. I think you'd better come when nurse isn't here. When will you come again, Angel?” “To-morrow.” “Must I give back the nice gum?” she asked anxiously. “No. But you'd better leave it in your cage. Grown-ups don't like gum around,” he instructed her with precocious worldly wisdom. “Thank you, Angel. Good-bye, Angel” “Good-bye, little girl.” “Gr-rr-rr-rr!” The growl was a savage reminder of the dramatic proprieties. Carlo was quick of apprehension. “Good-bye, Tiger,” he amended. And the Tiger purred.