As we sat there, the rest of the party, who had slept rather later than usual after their fatigues of the previous day, came out one by one and stood around the dead tiger, wondering at the tale told by the delighted ryot, who squatted at the beast's head to relate the adventure to all comers.

We could see the group from where we sat, in the shadow of the _connat_, and the different expressions of the men as they came out.

The little collector of Pegnugger measured and measured again; Mr.Ghyrkins stood with his hands in his coat pockets and his legs apart, then going to the other side he took up the same position again.

Lord Steepleton Kildare sauntered round and twirled his big moustache, saying nothing the while, but looking rather serious.

John Westonhaugh, who seemed to be the artistic genius of the party, sent for a chair and made his servant hold an umbrella over him while he sketched the animal in his notebook, and presently his sister came out, a big bunch of roses in her belt, and a broad hat half hiding her face, and looked at the tiger and then round the party quickly, searching for Isaacs.