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Tiger and Tom and Other Stories for Boys by Various

V >> Various >> Tiger and Tom and Other Stories for Boys



[Illustration: "Every morning Tiger and Tom stood faithfully in the
market-place."]

Tiger and Tom

and

Other Stories for Boys

* * * * *

"WORDS FITLY SPOKEN"
Every Story Contains an Important Lesson

[Illustration: SABBATH READINGS FOR THE HOME CIRCLE]

The stories in this book were compiled from a four volume set titled,
Sabbath Readings. The stories were originally gathered from church papers
in the 1870's, Methodists, Lutheran, Presbyterian, etc. We bring to you
this 1910 reproduction, which is when the stories were first
illustrated. We have found the stories to be truly "a breath of fresh
air" in literature for children and youth. May they receive a warm
welcome in your home is our prayer.

The Publishers.

1910



CONTENTS


Tiger and Tom
Those Scars
Coals of Fire
Lyman Dean's Testimonials
Bert's Thanksgiving
The Boy and His Spare Moments
Will Winslow
Only This Once
The Right Decision
The Use of Learning
Jamie and His Teacher
With a Will, Joe!
Effects of Disobedience
Stand By the Ship
A Faithful Shepherd Boy
Dick Harris; or the Boy-Man
The Way of Safety
Roger's Lesson
Bert's Monitors
A Morning Thought
The Two Clerks
Ten Minutes' Delay
The Premium
Where the Gold Is
Taking Him in Hand
Overworked Boys
The Best Fun
Somebody's Mother
Waiting for the Grist
A Boy's Lesson in Dishonesty
A Picture of God
If You Are Only Honest
Six Things Behind
The Old Brown Hand



ILLUSTRATIONS


Frontispiece
TIGER AND TOM
They Meet Dick
The Result of Anger
Tom's Sorrow
Tiger Comes Back
THOSE SCARS
Falling from Cherry Tree
Picking up Apples
TELLING MOTHER
Taking a Blow
Rescuing Dick's Sister
LYMAN DEAN'S TESTIMONIALS
Inquiring of the Conductor
This Is Harrowtown
Allow Me to Assist You
Welcome, My Benefactor
Is This the Boy?
Mr. Randall Pays the Mortgage
BERT'S THANKSGIVING
Buy a Paper, Sir?
In Mr. Crooker's Office
The New Home
IN THE ACADEMY KITCHEN
In My Spare Moments
WILL WINSLOW
There Was a Heavy Plunge
ONLY THIS ONCE
The Father's Story
The Race
THE RIGHT DECISION
I Will Pray First
THE USE OF LEARNING
The Contrast
The Chain Carrier
JAMIE AND HIS TEACHER
It's Me Testament
Reading the Testament?
WITH A WILL, JOE!
I've Managed It, Mother
EFFECTS OF DISOBEDIENCE
Lock Him in His Room
It Was My Sister
STAND BY THE SHIP
The Drummer Boy in Battle
Sweeping the Office
On Shipboard
The Bracelet
A FAITHFUL SHEPHERD BOY
His Attendants Came Up
THE BOY-MAN
He Learned to Drink
Dick Harris, the Drunkard
THE WAY OF SAFETY
The Deceitful Merchant
Jacob Leaves His Position
The River Steamboat
He Called on His Pastor
ROGER'S LESSON
It Wasn't My Fault
The Sprained Ankle
BERT'S MONITORS
He Opened the Door and Went Down Stairs
The Cat
The Mocking Bird
Bow, Wow, Wow
The Family Horse
Bert Came Into the Shed
The Flogging
THE TWO CLERKS
Helping the Bookkeeper
An Outcast
The Fatal Ten Minutes
TEN MINUTES' DELAY
THE PREMIUM
Presenting the Bible
Is That a Bible?
The Holy Bible
The Bible Lamp
Rejoice in the Lord
WHERE THE GOLD IS
Early Morning Reading
TAKING HIM IN HAND
Isaac Remonstrated
Jim at the Door
The Unruly Cattle
OVERWORKED BOYS
Not Afraid of Work
Not How Little but How Much
The Old Cabin
The Best Fun
The Wood Pile
Carrying in the Wood
SOMEBODY'S MOTHER
WAITING FOR THE GRIST
The Open Gate
LESSONS IN DISHONESTY
You Simpleton!
Half a Dollar too Much
Mr. Carman's Letter
Arrest of James
The Scene in Court
The Accusation
A PICTURE OF GOD
Going Up Stairs
IF YOU ARE ONLY HONEST
In the Raging Stream




[Illustration]

TIGER AND TOM


The day was pleasant, in that particularly pleasant part of summer time,
which the boys call "vacation," when Tiger and Tom walked slowly down
the street together.

You may think it strange that I mention Tiger first, but I assure you,
Tom would not have been in the least offended by the preference. Indeed,
he would have told you that Tiger was a most wonderful dog, and knew as
much as any two boys, though this might be called extravagant.

Nearly a year ago, on Tom's birthday, Tiger arrived as a present from
Tom's uncle, and as the dog leaped with a dignified bound from the wagon
in which he made his journey, Tom looked for a moment into his great,
wise eyes, and impulsively threw his arms around his shaggy neck.

Tiger was pleased with Tom's bright face, and affectionately licked his
smooth cheeks. So the league of friendship was complete in an hour.

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 something which happened to Tom, on this
account, which he never forgot to the end of his life.

Tiger and Tom were walking down the street together one pleasant day,
when they met Dick Casey, a schoolfellow of Tom's.

[Illustration]

"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 ready
for a little amusement. So the two went up in the loft together, and
enjoyed themselves for a long time.

But at last one of those trifling disputes arose, 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."

Tom's face became crimson, and darting upon Dick, he gave him a sudden
push. Alas! he was near to the open door. Dick screamed, threw up his
arms, and in a moment was gone.

[Illustration]

Tom's heart stood still, and an icy chill crept over him from head to
foot. At first he could not stir; then--he never knew how he got there,
but he found himself standing beside his little friend. Some men were
raising him carefully from the hard sidewalk.

"Is he dead?" almost screamed Tom.

"No," replied one, "we hope not. How did he fall out?"

"He didn't fall," groaned Tom, who never could be so mean as to tell a
lie, "I pushed him out."

"_You_ pushed him, you wicked boy," cried a rough voice. "Do you know
you ought to be sent to jail, and if he dies, maybe you'll be hung."

Tom grew as white as Dick, whom he had followed into the store, and he
heard all that passed as if in a dream.

"Is he badly hurt?" cried some one.

"Only his hands," was the answer. "The rope saved him, he caught hold of
the rope and slipped down; but his hands are dreadfully torn--he has
fainted from pain."

Just then Tom's father came in, and soon understood the case. The look
he gave his unhappy son, so full of sorrow, not unmingled with pity, was
too much for Tom, and he stole out followed by the faithful Tiger.

He wandered to the woods, and threw himself upon the ground. One hour
ago he was a happy boy, and now what a terrible change! What had made
the difference?--Nothing but the indulgence of this wicked, violent
temper.

His mother had often warned him of the fearful consequences. She had
told him that little boys who would not learn to govern themselves, grew
up to be very wicked men, and often became murderers in some moment of
passion.

And now, Tom shuddered to think he was almost a murderer! Nothing but
God's great mercy in putting that rope in Dick's way, had saved him
from carrying that load of sorrow and guilt all the rest of his life.

But poor Dick might die yet--how pale he looked--how strange! Tom fell
upon his knees, and prayed God to spare Dick's life, and from that time
forth, with God's help, he promised that he would strive to conquer his
wicked temper.

Then, as he could no longer bear his terrible suspense, he started for
Widow Casey's cottage. As he appeared at the humble door, Mrs. Casey
angrily ordered him away, saying, "You have made a poor woman trouble
enough for one day." But Dick's feeble voice entreated, "O mother, let
him come in; I was just as bad as he."

Tom gave a cry of joy at hearing these welcome tones, and sprang hastily
in. There sat poor Dick, with his hands bound up, looking very pale, but
Tom thanked God that he was alive.

"I should like to know how I am to live now," sighed Mrs. Casey. "Who
will weed the garden, and carry my vegetables to market? I am afraid we
shall suffer for bread before the summer is over," and she put her apron
to her eyes.

"Mrs. Casey," cried Tom, eagerly, "I will do everything that Dick did. I
will sell the cabbages, potatoes, and beans, and will drive Mr. Brown's
cows to 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. 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 unskillfully 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 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
into the dog's great, honest eyes, he cried with a queer shake in 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 it can't be
possible that you want to sell him, do you, my boy?" and the kind old
gentleman gave Tom a quick, questioning glance.

"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, 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 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 allowed to spend the
day as he pleased, he took his books and went to his favorite haunt in
the woods. He lay down under the shade of a wide-spreading maple, and
buried his face in his hands:--

"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 as well as I do
now."

Tom sighed heavily; then added more cheerfully, "Well, I hope some
things are better than they were last year. I hope I have begun to
conquer myself, and with God's help I will never give up trying while I
live. But O how much sorrow and misery I have made for myself as well as
for others, by only once giving way to my wicked, foolish temper. And
not only that, but," added Tom, with a sigh, "I can never forget that I
might have been a murderer, had it not been for the mercy of God. Now if
I could only earn money enough to buy back dear old Tiger."

While Tom was busied with these thoughts, he heard a hasty, familiar
trot, a quick bark of joy, and the brave old dog sprang into Tom's arms.

"Tiger, old fellow," cried Tom, trying to look fierce, though he could
scarcely keep down the tears, "how came you to run away, sir?"

Tiger responded by picking up a letter he had dropped in his first joy,
and laying it in Tom's hand:--

"MY DEAR CHILD: Tiger is pining, and I must give him a change of air. I
wish him to have a good master, and knowing that the best ones are those
who have learned to govern _themselves_, I send him to you. Will you
take care of him and oblige

Your old friend, MAJOR WHITE."

Tom then read through a mist of tears--

"P.S. I know the whole story. Dear young friend, be not weary in well
doing."

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

THOSE SCARS


"What are those scars?" questioned Mary Lanman of her father as she sat
in his lap, holding his hand in her own little ones.

"Those scars, my dear? If I were to tell you the history of them, it
would make a long story."

"But do tell me, papa," said Mary, "I should like to hear a long story."

"These scars, my child, are more than forty years old. For forty years
they have every day reminded me of my disobedience to my parents and my
violation of the law of God."

"Do tell me all about it, father," pleaded Mary.

"When I was about twelve years old," he began, "my father sent me one
pleasant autumn day into the woods to cut a pole to be used in beating
apples off the trees. It was wanted immediately to fill the place of one
that had been broken.

"I took my little hatchet and hastened to the woods as I had been bidden.
I looked in every direction for a tall, slender tree that would answer
the purpose; and every time I stopped to examine a young tree, a taller
and straighter sapling caught my eye farther on.

"What seemed most surprising to me was that the little trees that looked
so trim and upright in the distance, grew deformed and crooked as I
approached them. Frequently disappointed, I was led from tree to tree,
till I had traversed the entire grove and made no choice.

"My path opened into a clearing, and near the fence stood a young cherry
tree loaded with fruit. Here was a strong temptation. I knew very well
to whom this tree belonged, and that it bore valuable fruit. I knew,
too, that I had no right to touch a single cherry. No house was near, no
person was in sight. None but God could see me, and I forgot that His
eye looked down upon me.

"I resolved to taste the tempting fruit. I climbed the tree and began to
pick the rich, ripe cherries. But I found no pleasure in the taste of
them; I was so fearful of surprise and detection. Some one might come
and find me in the tree. I therefore resolved to break off some
richly-loaded boughs, and feast upon the cherries as I hastened home.

"The top of the tree was bowed with the weight of its fruit. I climbed
as high as I could, and bending down the top, attempted to cut it off
with my knife. In my eagerness to secure my prize, I did not guard my
left hand, which held down the top of the tree. My knife slipped from
the yielding wood to my fingers, and passed with unspent force across
all the fingers of my left hand, cutting the flesh to the bone.

"I never could look at fresh blood without fainting. My eye caught sight
of the red drops that oozed from every finger, and my heart began to die
within me. I slipped through the limbs of the tree to the ground. The
shock of the fall drove away the faintness, and I soon stood upon my
feet.

[Illustration]

"I wrapped my handkerchief about my bleeding fingers, and hurried home.
My mission was worse than useless; I had not accomplished the purpose
for which I was sent, I had committed a crime and disabled myself for
work; for how could I pick apples in my present condition.

"I found no sympathy from anybody; my father reproved me, and threatened
chastisement when my wounds were healed. My mother, who dressed my
aching fingers, looked very sorrowfully upon me, and I knew that I had
grieved her deeply by my disobedience.

"I assisted in picking the apples, but I was compelled to work with one
hand, while the other hung in a sling. That was a sad day for me.

"It required some weeks to heal the deep gashes made by my knife, and
the scars are as bright, after forty years, as they were when the wounds
were first closed.

"But if the scars in the flesh were all, it would have been
comparatively a trifle. But the soul was wounded as well as the body.
The conscience was defiled with guilt. Tears of repentance could not
wipe away the stain. Nothing but the blood of Christ could give health
to the wounded spirit.

"As wounds leave scars, so, my dear child, youthful sins leave the
traces of their existence. Like the scars of the healed wound, they
disfigure and weaken the soul. The follies of youth may be overcome, but
they are always sure to leave their mark. Every sin of childhood hangs
like a weight upon the neck of manhood. The blood of Jesus Christ alone
cleanseth from all sin."

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

COALS OF FIRE


Guy Morgan came in from school with rapid step and impetuous manner. His
mother looked up from her work. There was a round, red spot on his
cheek, and an ominous glitter in his eyes. She knew the signs. His
naturally fierce temper had been stirred in some way to a heat that had
kindled his whole nature. He tossed down his cap, threw himself on an
ottoman at her feet, and then said, with still a little of the heat of
his temper in his tone, "Never say, after this, that I don't love you,
mother."

"I think I never did say so," she answered gently, as she passed her
hand over the tawny locks, and brushed them away from the flushed brow.
"But what special thing have you done to prove your love for me just
now?"

"Taken a blow without returning it." She bent over and kissed her boy.
He was fifteen years old, a tall fellow with strong muscles; but he had
not grown above liking his mother's kisses.

Then she said softly, "Tell me all about it, Guy."

"O, it was Dick Osgood! You know what a mean fellow he is, anyhow. He
had been tormenting some of the younger boys till I could not stand it.
Every one of them is afraid of him.

"I told him he ought to be ashamed of himself, and tried to make him
leave off, till, after a while, he turned from them, and coming to me,
he struck me in the face. I believe the mark is there now;" and he
turned the other cheek toward his mother. Her heart was filled with
sympathy and secret indignation.

[Illustration]

"Well," she said, "and you--what did you do?"

"I remembered what I had promised you for this year, and I took
it--think of it, mother--took it, and never touched him! I just looked
into his eyes, and said, 'If I should strike you back, I should lower
myself to your level.'

"He laughed a great, scornful laugh, and said, 'You hear, boys, Morgan's
turned preacher. You'd better wait, sir, before you lecture me on my
behavior to the little ones, till you have pluck enough to defend them.
I've heard about the last impudence I shall from a coward like you.'

"The boys laughed, and some of them said, 'Good for you, Osgood!' and I
came home. I had done it for the sake of my promise to you! for I'm
stronger than he is, any day; and _you_ know, mother, whether there's a
drop of coward's blood in my veins. I thought you were the one to
comfort me; though it isn't comfort I want so much, either. I just want
you to release me from that promise, and let me go back and thrash him."

Mrs. Morgan's heart thrilled with silent thanksgiving. Her boy's temper
had been her greatest grief. His father was dead, and she had brought
him up alone, and sometimes she was afraid her too great tenderness had
spoiled him.

She had tried in vain to curb his passionate nature. It was a power
which no bands could bind. She had concluded at last that the only hope
was in enlisting his own powerful will, and making him resolve to
conquer himself. Now he had shown himself capable of self-control. In
the midst of his anger he had remembered his pledge to her, and had kept
it. He would yet be his own master,--this brave boy of hers,--and the
kingdom of his own mind would be a goodly sovereignty.

"Better heap coals of fire on his head!" she said quietly.

"Yes, he deserves a good scorching,"--pretending to misunderstand
her,--"but I should not have thought _you_ would be so revengeful."

"You know well enough what kind of coals I mean, and _who_ it was that
said, 'If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink.'
I can not release you from your promise till the year for which you made
it is over.

"I think that the Master who told us to render good for evil, understood
all the wants and passions of humanity better than any other teacher has
ever understood them. I am sure that what He said must be wise and right
and best. I want you to try His way first. If that fails, there will be
time enough after this year to make a different experiment."

"Well, I promised you," he said, "and I'll show you that, at least, I'm
strong enough to keep my word until you release me from it. I think,
though, you don't quite know how hard it is."

Mrs. Morgan knew that it was very hard for a true, brave-hearted boy to
be called a coward; but she knew, also, that the truest bravery on earth
is the bravery of endurance.

"Look out for the coals of fire!" she said smilingly, as her boy started
for school the next morning. "Keep a good watch, and I'm pretty sure
you'll find them before the summer is over."

But he came home at night depressed and a little gloomy. There had
always been a sort of rivalry between him and Dick Osgood, and now the
boys seemed to have gone over to the stronger side, and he had that
bitter feeling of humiliation and disgrace, which is as bitter to a boy
as the sense of defeat ever is to a man.

The weeks went on, and the feeling wore away a little. Still the memory
of that blow rankled in Guy's mind, and made him unsocial and ill at
ease. His mother watched him with some anxiety, but did not interfere.
She had the true wisdom to leave him to learn some of the lessons of
life alone.

At length came the last day of school, followed next day by a picnic, in
which all the scholars, superintended by their teachers, were to join.

Guy Morgan hesitated a little and then concluded to go. The place
selected was a lovely spot, known in all the neighborhood as "the old
mill." It was on the banks of the Quassit River, where the stream ran
fast, and the grass was green, and great trees with drooping boughs shut
away the July sunlight.

Among the rest were Dick Osgood and his little sister Hetty, the one
human being whom he seemed really and tenderly to love. The teacher's
eyes were on him for this one day, and he did not venture to insult the
older scholars or domineer over the little ones. He and Guy kept apart
as much as they conveniently could; and Guy entered into the spirit of
the day, and really enjoyed it much better than he had anticipated.