“No, no, child,” said Major White, kindly; “I’ll treat him like a prince, and if you ever want to buy him back, you shall have him.”

Tom managed to falter “Thank you,” and almost flew out of hearing of Tiger’s eager scratching on the barn door.

I am making my story too long, and can only tell you in a few words that Tom’s sacrifice was accepted.  A friend took little Dick to the city free of expense, and Tom’s money paid for the necessary operation.

The poor, crooked fingers were very much improved, and were soon almost as good as ever.  And the whole village loved Tom for his brave, self-sacrificing spirit, and the noble atonement he had made for his moment of passion.

A few days after Dick’s return came Tom’s birthday, but he did not feel in his usual spirits.  In spite of his delight in Dick’s recovery, he had so mourned over the matter, and had taken Tiger’s loss so much to heart, that he had grown quite pale and thin.  So as he was allowed to spend the day as he pleased, he took his books and went to his favorite haunt in the woods.  He lay down under the shade of a wide-spreading maple, and buried his face in his hands:—­

“How different from my last birthday,” thought Tom.  “Then Tiger had just come, and I was so happy, though I didn’t like him half as well as I do now.”

Tom sighed heavily; then added more cheerfully, “Well, I hope some things are better than they were last year.  I hope I have begun to conquer myself, and with God’s help I will never give up trying while I live.  But O how much sorrow and misery I have made for myself as well as for others, by only once giving way to my wicked, foolish temper.  And not only that, but,” added Tom, with a sigh, “I can never forget that I might have been a murderer, had it not been for the mercy of God.  Now if I could only earn money enough to buy back dear old Tiger.”

While Tom was busied with these thoughts, he heard a hasty, familiar trot, a quick bark of joy, and the brave old dog sprang into Tom’s arms.

“Tiger, old fellow,” cried Tom, trying to look fierce, though he could scarcely keep down the tears, “how came you to run away, sir?”

Tiger responded by picking up a letter he had dropped in his first joy, and laying it in Tom’s hand:—­

“My dear child:  Tiger is pining, and I must give him a change of air.  I wish him to have a good master, and knowing that the best ones are those who have learned to govern themselves, I send him to you.  Will you take care of him and oblige

Your old friend, Major white.”

Tom then read through a mist of tears—­

“P.S.  I know the whole story.  Dear young friend, be not weary in well doing.”

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

THOSE SCARS

“What are those scars?” questioned Mary Lanman of her father as she sat in his lap, holding his hand in her own little ones.