"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