LITMIR.BIZ

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later a boat darted round the corner of the wharf, propelled by eager oarsmen.

      On being lifted carefully in, Miss Drummond, yielding to the reaction, fainted for the moment; whereat Terry, who had never seen a woman faint before, set up a wail of grief, thinking she must be dead.

      "Oh, the dear lady's dead!" he cried. "Ye must be getting a doctor quick."

      But the others reassured him, and to his vast delight the blue eyes opened again to give him a look of inexpressible gratitude ere the boat touched the landing-steps.

      Here Mr. Drummond, pale and trembling, the first thrill of numbing horror having just given place to ecstatic joy, awaited them. The instant the boat was within reach he sprang into it, and, regardless of her dripping garments, clasped his daughter to his breast, kissing her again and again, while his quivering lips murmured, "My darling, my darling! God be thanked for your rescue!"

      Releasing herself gently from his arms, Miss Drummond reached out her hand for Terry, who was just scrambling awkwardly ashore.

      "Don't forget to thank him too, father," she said, with a meaning smile.

      Thus reminded, Mr. Drummond, blushing at the excess of feeling which had caused him to forget everything save that his only daughter, the joy and pride of his life, had been saved from death, laid hold of Terry, and drew him back into the boat, where, taking both the boy's hands in his, he said in tones of deep emotion, —

      "My boy, you have done my daughter and me a service we can never adequately repay. But all that grateful hearts can do we will not fail to do. Tell me your name and where you live."

      Poor Terry was so abashed at being thus addressed by the great Mr. Drummond that his tongue refused its office. But one of the bystanders came to his relief.

      "Sure and he's Black Mike's son, sur, and he lives up Blind Alley," was the information volunteered.

      Accepting it as though it came from Terry himself, Mr. Drummond, giving the boy's hands another grateful shake, said, —

      "Thank you. You will hear from me before the day ends."

      Then taking his daughter by the arm, he continued, —

      "Come now, darling; we must make all haste up to my office, and see what can be done for you."

      Not until she stepped upon the wharf did Miss Drummond remember her pony. Then the question as to what had become of it flashed into her mind, and she turned to look down the wharf, exclaiming, —

      "Oh, but my pony! Poor, dear Dolly! What's become of her?"

      "Never mind the pony, dear," said Mr. Drummond; "the men will look after her. Come, come; you'll catch your death of cold staying out here in your dripping clothes."

      Somewhat reluctantly Miss Drummond obeyed. Reassuringly though her father had spoken, she had misgivings as to her pony's fate – misgivings which were in fact only too well founded; for, dragged to the bottom by the weight of the carriage, the poor creature had been drowned in spite of its desperate struggles.

      When the Drummonds disappeared, Terry found himself the centre of a circle of admirers, each of whom sought in his own way to give expression to his admiration and envy.

      "Sure and your fortune's made this day, Terry, me boy," said the storeman, who wished in his heart that he had been lucky enough to rescue his employer's daughter. "Mr. Drummond's not the man to forgit his word; and didn't he say he'd do anything in the world for ye?"

      But Terry's triumph was complete when the appearance of his father lounging sullenly back to work, with a short clay pipe between his teeth, was hailed with shouts from the crowd of, —

      "Mike! Mike! come here wid ye, till we tell ye what yer boy's been doin'. Oh, but you're the lucky man to have a boy like Terry!"

      Without a change in his dark countenance, or a quickening of his step, Black Mike drew near, and silently awaited explanations. When the matter was made clear to him, his face did brighten a little; but whether it was with pride at his son's achievement, or selfish pleasure at the prospect of the benefits that might accrue from it, the keenest observer would have been puzzled to say.

      He managed, however, to get out something that more closely approached praise than anything Terry had ever heard from his lips before, and this delighted the boy so that he had to execute a few steps of his favourite clog dance to relieve his feelings. Then, bethinking himself that he had stayed long enough inside his uncomfortably wet clothing, he raced up the wharf, and made for his home in Blind Alley.

      Here his mother received him with a shower of questions, in the answering of which he found rare delight.

      "Me blessed boy!" the excited woman exclaimed, her feelings strangely divided betwixt horror at the thought of the risk her son had run and joy at its successful issue. "It's proud I am of you this day. No doubt but ye'll be your mother's comfort."

      "And make ye ride in a carriage with glass sides, eh, mother?" said Terry with a merry twinkle in his eye.

      "Ah! now don't be talking such foolishness, Terry," returned Mrs. Ahearn, in a tone that implied to do so was tempting Providence perchance. "If your old mother has only a bit and sup sure to the end of her days, and a decent gown to put on, she'll be content enough without the carriage."

      That afternoon Mr. Drummond picked his way carefully through the perils of Blind Alley to the grimy tenement where the Ahearns abode, and inquired for Terry. The latter, having exchanged his wet garments for the only others his scanty wardrobe contained, had gone down again to Long Wharf; so, after exchanging a few kind words with his mother, Mr. Drummond followed him thither, saying to himself, as he cautiously stepped from stone to stone, for the alley was little better than a mere muddy gutter, "The boy must be detached from these surroundings if anything is to be made of him. And he has a bright face. He ought to have good stuff in him. Certainly he shall have a fair trial at my hands, for I owe him more than money can repay."

      On reaching his office, Mr. Drummond sent one of the clerks out to hunt Terry up, and presently he returned with the lad in tow, looking very bashful and ill at ease. He was attired in his "Sunday best," and boasted a face and hands of unwonted cleanliness. The merchant gave him a warm greeting, and made him sit down in a chair in front of him, while he scanned his countenance closely.

      "My dear boy," said he after a pause, and seeming well satisfied with the result of his inspection, "as I have already told you, I feel that I am indebted to you for a service the worth of which cannot be put down in money; and it is not by offering you money that I would prove my gratitude. The money would be soon spent, leaving you no better, and possibly worse, than before it was given you. No; you have saved my daughter's life, and in return I want to save yours, though in a somewhat different way. Look me straight in the eyes, please."

      For the first time since he had entered Mr. Drummond's presence Terry lifted his big brown eyes, and looked full into his face, his freckles being submerged in the warm flush that swept over his face as he did so.

      "Ah!" said Mr. Drummond, "I was not mistaken. Your face gives warrant of many good qualities that you've had small chance to develop thus far. It will be my privilege and pleasure to give you the opportunity circumstances have hitherto denied you. How would you like to go to a nice school?"

      Terry had been listening with eager attention and brightening countenance; but at the mention of the word "school" his face suddenly fell, and from the restless twitching of his body it was very evident that the idea had no attraction for him at all.

      Mr. Drummond's keen eye did not fail to note the effect of his question, and without stopping to argue the point he promptly put another.

      "Well, then, how would you like to be taken into my office and taught to be a clerk?"

      Instantly the boy's face burst into bloom, so to speak, and giving the merchant a look which said as plain as words, "I hope you really mean it," he exclaimed, —

      "Sure, sir, an' it's now ye're talkin'."

      Mr. Drummond could not suppress a smile at Terry's quaint phrase that went so straight to the mark.

      "You shall have your own way then," he responded in his

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