“Good Heavens, child, don’t tell it just before bedtime,” warned Teresa. “And have pity on me! Why, I shan’t sleep a wink myself.”
“Well, I won’t make it so awful terrible then,” said the small girl as she cuddled in Teresa’s lap. “My nurse told it to me. It’s the story ’bout The Great Yellow Tiger that ran right into Cartagena and—and what do you s’pose he did?”
“Sant’ Iago preserve us! A great yellow tiger!” cried Teresa, imitating extreme terror. “Indeed, that does scare me more terribly than my spotted jaguar on the roof.”
“He was looking for naughty little boys and girls,” solemnly affirmed the narrator. “That’s what my nurse says. And he bited iron bars off of windows to find ’em. Your old jaguar couldn’t do that. All he could do was scratch through a straw roof with his claws. Want to hear some more ’bout the Great Yellow Tiger?”
“Not to-night, darling,” said Teresa. “He is much too terrible for me. Did he run back to the jungle?”
“Yes, but maybe he’ll come out of the jungle again if the boys and girls aren’t as good as they can be. Glad I don’t live in Cartagena.”
“You will be far away across the ocean and no yellow tiger can swim after you,” comforted Teresa. “Besides, you are never naughty. You tell your nurse that you don’t want to hear that story any more.”
“It scared you, didn’t it? Oh, I have a little monkey to play with, but I couldn’t find him to-day. Señor Ramon Bazán left it when he went away. Will you play with me and the monkey to-morrow, Teresa?”
“Perhaps, if you will promise not to tell me such awful stories. They make me squirm!”
The small daughter was presently summoned by her nurse. It was a tearful departure. The Great Yellow Tiger! El Tigre Amarillo Grande! A child’s fantasy that meant no more to Teresa Fernandez than the spotted jaguar tumbling through the thatched roof of the peon’s hut.