At last, passing along the quays, we saw a little fellow sitting on the stock of an anchor, and looking very miserable. He had no shoes on his feet; his trousers were almost legless, and fastened up over one shoulder by a piece of string, while his arms were thrust into the sleeves of an old coat, much too large for him, and patched and torn again in all directions. He did not beg, but just looked up into my tall friend’s face, as if he saw something pleasing there.
“What do you want?” said the sailor.
“Nothing,” answered the boy, not understanding him.
“You’re well off then, lad,” said the tall sailor, smiling at him. “But I think that you would be the better for some few things in this world—for a suit of clothes, for instance.”
“The very things I do want!” exclaimed the lad. “You’ve hit it, your honour. I’d a dacent suit as ever you’d wish to see, and they were run away with, just as I’d got the office of an errand-boy with a gentleman, and was in a fair way to make my fortune.”
“Well, then, here’s a suit for you, my lad,” said the sailor; “just get your mother to give them a darning up, and they’ll serve your purpose, I daresay. Give him your bundle.”
“Sure your honour isn’t joking with me!” exclaimed the lad, his countenance beaming with pleasure as he undid the bundle of clothes, which were certainly very far better than those he had on. “I’m a made man—that I am! Blessings on your honour, and the young master there!”
“You’re welcome, lad, with all my heart,” answered my friend.
“Oh, it’s Terence McSwiney will have to thank you to the end of his days, and ever after!” exclaimed the boy, as we were walking on.
“Well, Terence, I hope you’ll get the post, and do your duty in it,” said the tall sailor, moving off to avoid listening to the expressions of gratitude which the lad poured forth.