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