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."