It was a pleasant day in that particularly pleasant part of the summer
time, which the boys call "vacation," when Tiger and Tom walked slowly
down the street together. You may think it strange that I mention
Tiger first, but I assure you Tom would not have been in the least
offended by the preference. Indeed, he would have assured you that
Tiger was a most wonderful dog, and knew as much as any two boys,
though this might be called extravagant.
Nearly a year ago, on Tom's birthday, Tiger arrived as a present from
Tom's uncle, and as he leaped with a dignified bound from the wagon in
which he made his journey, Tom looked for a moment into his great,
wise eyes, and impulsively threw his arms around his shaggy neck.
Tiger, on his part, was pleased with Tom's bright face, and most
affectionately licked his smooth cheeks. So the league of friendship
was complete in an hour.
Tom had a pleasant, round face, and you might live with him a week,
and think him one of the noblest, most generous boys you ever knew.
But some day you would probably discover that he had a most violent
temper. You would be frightened to see his face crimson with rage, as
he stamped his feet, shook his little sister, spoke improperly to his
mother, and above all, displeased his great Father in heaven.
Now I am going to tell you of one great trial on this account, which
Tom never forgot to the end of his life. Tiger and Tom were walking
down the street together, when they met Dick Casey, a school-fellow of
Tom's.
"O Dick!" cried Tom, "I'm going to father's grain store a little
while. Let's go up in the loft and play."
Dick had just finished his work in his mother's garden, and was all
ready for a little amusement. So the two went up together, and enjoyed
themselves highly for a long time. But at last arose one of those
trifling disputes, in which little boys are so apt to indulge. Pretty
soon there were angry words, then (Oh, how sorry I am to say it!),
Tom's wicked passions got the mastery of him, and he beat little Dick
severely. Tiger, who must have been ashamed of his master, pulled hard
at his coat, and whined piteously, but all in vain. At last Tom
stopped, from mere exhaustion.
"There, now!" he cried, "which is right, you or I?"
"I am," sobbed Dick, "and you tell a lie."
Tom's face flushed crimson, and darting upon Dick, he gave him a
sudden push. Alas! he was near to the open door. Dick screamed, threw
up his arms, and in a moment was gone. Tom's heart stood still, and an
icy chill crept over him from head to foot. At first he could not
stir; then--he never knew how he got there, but he found himself
standing beside his little friend. Some men were raising him carefully
from the hard sidewalk.
"Is he dead?" almost screamed Tom.
"No," replied one, "we hope not. How did he fall out?"
"He didn't fall," groaned Tom, who never could be so mean as to tell a
lie, "I pushed him out."
"_You_ pushed him, you wicked boy," cried a rough voice. "Do you know
you ought to be sent to jail, and if he dies, maybe you'll be hung."
Tom grew as white as Dick, whom he had followed into the store, and he
heard all that passed as if in a dream.
"Is he badly hurt?" cried some one.
"Only his hands," was the answer. "The rope saved him, he caught hold
of the rope and slipped down; but his hands are dreadfully torn--he
has fainted from pain."
Just then Tom's father came in, and soon understood the case. The look
he gave at his unhappy son, so full of sorrow, not unmingled with
pity, was too much for Tom, and he stole out, followed by the faithful
Tiger. He wandered to the woods, and threw himself upon the ground.
One hour ago he was a happy boy, and now what a terrible change! What
has made the difference? Nothing but the indulgence of this wicked,
violent temper. His mother had often warned him of the fearful
consequences. She had told him that little boys who would not learn to
govern themselves, grew up to be very wicked men, and often became
murderers in some moment of passion. And now, Tom shuddered to think
he was almost a murderer! Nothing but God's great mercy in putting
that rope in Dick's way, had saved him from carrying that load of
sorrow and guilt all the rest of his life. But poor Dick, he might die
yet--how pale he looked--how strange! Tom fell upon his knees, and
prayed God to "spare Dick's life," and from that time forth, with
God's help, he promised that he would strive to conquer this wicked
passion.
Then, as he could no longer bear his terrible suspense, he started for
Widow Casey's cottage. As he appeared at the humble door, Mrs. Casey
angrily ordered him away, saying: "You have made a poor woman trouble
enough for one day." But Dick's feeble voice entreated, "O mother, let
him come in; I was just as bad as he."
Tom gave a cry of joy at hearing these welcome tones, and sprang
hastily in. There sat poor Dick with his hands bound up, looking very
pale, but Tom thanked God that he was alive.
"I should like to know how I am to live now," sighed Mrs. Casey. "Who
will weed the garden, and carry my vegetables to market? I am afraid
we shall suffer for bread before the summer is over," and she put her
apron to her eyes.
"Mrs. Casey," cried Tom, eagerly, "I will do everything that Dick did.
I will sell the potatoes and beans, and will drive Mr. Brown's cows to
pasture."
Mrs. Casey shook her head incredulously, but Tom bravely kept his
word. For the next few weeks Tom was at his post bright and early, and
the garden was never kept in better order. And every morning Tiger and
Tom stood faithfully in the market-place with their baskets, and never
gave up, no matter how warm the day, till the last vegetable was sold,
and the money placed faithfully in Mrs. Casey's hand.
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 unskilfully 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 great struggle. Tom stroked him backward and forward, and
although he was a proud boy, he sobbed aloud. Tiger whined, licked his
face, rushed off into dark corners, and barked savagely at some
imaginary enemy, and then came back, and putting his paws on Tom's
knees, wagged his tail in anxious sympathy. 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 of 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 do _you_ want to
sell him?"
"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, and 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--"
"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 great 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 permitted to spend the day as he pleased, he took his books and
went to his favorite haunt in the woods.
"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 so 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. 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 greatly oblige
"Your old friend, Major White."