The look in the tiger's eyes was one of emptiness. Frayed threads hinted that he once had button eyes. His body was hand sewn from feed sacking with painted on stripes.

I found him behind an old trunk the afternoon Miss Clara and I explored the third floor attic in her rambling house.

“He’s been up here many a year collecting dust,” she said. “Must hava belonged to Jake or one of his brothers.”

Then she said the magic words. “Would you like to have him?”

Old Tiger was past being a cuddly companion so I nestled him in a corner of my bookshelf.

One gloomy day Old Tiger looked so pathetic that I rummaged in mother’s sewing box until I found two shiny black buttons sized for a tiger’s eyes. When I lifted him from his perch the seam up his back gave way. A strange bit of stuffing poked out. I wiggled out one piece and gently unfolded a $100 bill.

I chuckled as I repaired Old Tiger’s back seam and sewed his new eyes in place. No, I didn’t remove his stuffing. I thought I should leave those Confederate bills right where Great Grandpa hid them.

© 2007 Cynthia Becker. Original for CCF (Becker grants CCF first electronic rights for one month; CCF may archive the material indefinitely and include it in an eBook anthology).