The "Bless me" was startled out of Mr. Philander
by the discovery that Esmeralda, in the exuberance
of her haste, had fastened him upon the same side of the
door as was the close-approaching lioness.
He beat furiously upon the heavy portal.
"Esmeralda! Esmeralda!" he shrieked. "Let me in. I am
being devoured by a lion."
Esmeralda thought that the noise upon the door was made
by the lioness in her attempts to pursue her, so, after her
custom, she fainted.
Mr. Philander cast a frightened glance behind him.
Horrors! The thing was quite close now. He tried to
scramble up the side of the cabin, and succeeded in
catching a fleeting hold upon the thatched roof.
For a moment he hung there, clawing with his feet like a
cat on a clothesline, but presently a piece of the thatch came
away, and Mr. Philander, preceding it, was precipitated upon
his back.
At the instant he fell a remarkable item of natural history
leaped to his mind. If one feigns death lions and lionesses are
supposed to ignore one, according to Mr. Philander's faulty memory.
So Mr. Philander lay as he had fallen, frozen into the horrid
semblance of death. As his arms and legs had been extended
stiffly upward as he came to earth upon his back the
attitude of death was anything but impressive.
Jane had been watching his antics in mild-eyed surprise.
Now she laughed--a little choking gurgle of a laugh; but it
was enough.
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