Tom’s father often passed through the market, and gave his little son an encouraging smile, but he did not offer to help him out of his difficulty, for he knew if Tom struggled on alone, it would be a lesson he would never forget.  Already he was becoming so gentle and patient that every one noticed the change, and his mother rejoiced over the sweet fruits of his repentance and self-sacrifice.

After a few weeks, the bandages were removed from Dick’s hands, but they had been unskillfully treated, and were drawn up in very strange shapes.

Mrs. Casey could not conceal her grief.  “He will never be the help he was before,” she said to Tom, “he will never be like other boys, and he wrote such a fine hand; now he can no more make a letter than that little chicken in the garden.”

“If we only had a great city doctor,” said a neighbor, “he might have been all right.  Even now his fingers might be helped if you should take him to New York.”

“Oh, I am too poor, too poor” said she, and burst into tears.

Tom could not bear it, and again rushed into the woods to think what could be done, for he had already given them all his quarter’s allowance.  All at once a thought flashed into his head, and he started as if he had been shot.  Then he cried in great distress:—­

“No, no, anything but that, I can’t do that!”

Tiger gently licked his hands, and watched him with great concern.

Now came a terrible struggle.  Tom paced back and forth, and although he was a proud boy, he sobbed aloud.  Tiger whined, licked Tom’s face, rushed off into dark corners, and barked savagely at some imaginary enemy, and then came back, and putting his paws on his young master’s knees, wagged his tail in anxious sympathy.

[Illustration]

At last Tom took his hands from his pale, tear stained face, and looking into the dog’s great, honest eyes, he cried with a queer shake in his voice:—­

“Tiger, old fellow! dear old dog, could you ever forgive me if I sold you?”

Then came another burst of sorrow, and Tom rose hastily, as if afraid to trust himself, and almost ran out of the woods.  Over the fields he raced, with Tiger close at his heels, nor rested a moment till he stood at Major White’s door, nearly two miles away.

“Do you still want Tiger, sir?”

“Why yes,” said the old man in great surprise, “but it can’t be possible that you want to sell him, do you, my boy?” and the kind old gentleman gave Tom a quick, questioning glance.

“Yes, please,” gasped Tom, not daring to look at his old companion.

The exchange was quickly made, and the ten dollars in Tom’s hand.  Tiger was beguiled into a barn, the door hastily shut, and Tom was hurrying off, when he turned and cried in a choking voice:—­

“You will be kind to him, Major White, won’t you?  Don’t whip him, I never did, and he’s the best dog—­”