The seed thus sown by Miss Drummond began to take root at once. Terry now gave more thought to getting a chance to make a start in life than he did to having a good time. And here, as it happened, fortune favoured him in a most unusual way. On the Saturday morning of the week after the talk which had set him thinking, he was sitting at the end of the Long Wharf watching a big steamer making her way slowly up the harbour. It being the noon hour, the wharf hands were all away at dinner, and the place was almost deserted.
Suddenly he was startled out of his reverie by the sound of hoofs beating with alarming rapidity upon the resounding planks, and turning round he saw what caused him to spring to his feet with every nerve and muscle athrill. Thundering down the wharf in blind and reckless flight came Miss Drummond's pony, while in the carriage behind sat the owner, tugging desperately upon the reins, her face white and set with terror.
Acting upon the first impulse of the moment, Terry ran forward, shouting and waving his cap. Then, seeing that to be of no avail, he sprang at the maddened creature's head, hoping to seize the reins. But by a quick swerve the pony eluded him, and the next moment plunged headlong off the end of the wharf, dragging the carriage and its helpless occupant after her. There was a piercing shriek, a splash, a whirl of seething foam, and then the clear green depths closed over all!
For the first moment, Terry, overcome by the startling suddenness of the accident, knew not how to act. Then the impulse to rescue welled up mightily in his breast, and at once he leaped into the disturbed waters, which closed over his curly head.
Rising almost instantly to the surface, he looked eagerly about him, and caught sight of a hand thrust up in the agony of a struggle for life. A few quick strokes brought him to it, and then, taking in the situation intuitively, he swerved round so as to grasp Miss Drummond at the neck. He had not spent his life about a wharf without learning something of the difficulty of dealing with drowning persons, and that, strong, expert swimmer as he was, he must not suffer those hands to fasten their frantic grip upon him, or it would mean death for both.
So, deftly avoiding the girl's wild clutch, he took good hold of her from the back, and saying beseechingly, "Keep ye still now, ma'am, and I'll save ye all right," shoved her through the water in the direction of the wharf. Happily she was a young woman of rare self-possession. As soon as she felt Terry's firm hand her terror gave way to trust. She ceased her vain strugglings, and committed herself to her rescuer. Otherwise, indeed, the poor boy could hardly have been equal to the task. As it was, his strength just lasted until he reached the first row of barnacle-covered spiles; pressing Miss Drummond up to which he hoarsely directed her—"Take good hold of that now, ma'am, and I'll yell for somebody."
But he did not need to yell twice. Already helpers had gathered above them, and were shouting down words of encouragement; and a moment 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.
