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