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?"