e back,
he said,--

"There, now; you're qualified to be a credit to Drummond and Brown's
office, so far as appearance goes at all events. You can trot along
home now. They'll send the things there for you."

Eager to tell his mother of the wonders of the day, Terry darted off,
and in a few minutes was at home in Blind Alley. With many
exclamations of gratitude to the "blessed saints," and many interjected
questions, did Mrs. Ahearn listen to his wonderful story; and when the
parcels arrived, she spread out their contents upon the bed and fell
upon her knees before them. For many years her life had known but
scant rays of sunshine, and this sudden outburst almost overwhelmed
her. With trembling fingers she gently touched the different articles,
as though to assure herself that her eyes were not playing her false.
Then rising to her feet again, her eyes streaming and lips quivering,
she threw her arms around Terry and hugged him to her heart.

With a mother's fond prescience she grasped the fact that in him, and
in him alone, had she hope of redress for the sorrows which had so
deeply shadowed her life. Terry's chance had come, and his future and
hers depended upon the way in which he availed himself of it.

CHAPTER III.

UNEVEN GOING.

It was with a queer jumble of feelings palpitating in his young bosom
that Terry, attired as never before in his life, set out for Long Wharf
on Monday morning. Blind Alley seemed to swarm with women and
children, who first gazed in wild-eyed astonishment at his appearance,
and then proceeded to give vent to their admiration or envy in remarks
that would have sorely tried the composure of a stump orator hardened
by many campaigns.

[Illustration: "_Terry, attired as never before, set out for Long
Wharf._"]

"The blessed saints presarve us! Did ye ever see the loike?" gasped
Mrs. O'Rafferty, with a side glance at the gutter, where her own Phelim
was hunting for a lost marble, and looking more like a mud-turtle than
a bit of humanity.

"Get on to the hat, will you?" shouted Tim Doolin, his fingers itching
to throw a handful of mud at it, but his head telling him that to do so
would insure a tremendous thrashing, for Terry's prowess with his fists
was not to be gainsaid.

"Sure he's got a place in front of Clayton's, and has to stand there
all day on exhibition," sneered sly Tony Butler, pretending that he
thought Terry was to play the part of a living advertisemen