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?"