"I manes this, missie _asthore_. Howly men are most found on their bent knees wid their heads thrown back cryin' out to God A'mighty to have mercy on miserable sinners." "Uncle Jacko never does anything quite so foolish," replied Margot. "You don't understand him, and we won't talk of him any more." "I like that," replied Phinias, "when him and me, we took eggs out of every wild bird's nest in the county." "Well, then, it was you that tempted him," said Margot. "It was a bitter, cruel thing to do, and you ought to be 'shamed of yourself, Phinias." "Lawk a mercy, listen to the bit thing," cried Phinias, with a hearty laugh. "Him and me was ekal in those days, though now he's above me--no doubt on that." "He's a holy man, and you wouldn't have the right to tie his shoes," replied Margot. Phinias gazed with some complacency and amusement at the quaint little figure. Presently he turned the conversation to long and exciting talks about Desmondstown and the young ladies and the young gentlemen and old madam and The Desmond himself. "Ye'll have to be mighty particular when ye gets there, little miss. The Desmond won't stand any freedoms like. He's as proud as proud can be, though he's got nothing else to be proud of but that he's _The_ Desmond, so ye must mind your p's and q's. Don't ye play any pranks on him, missie, or it'll turn out bad for ye." "I won't, Phinias, I won't indeed. I'm going to be quite a good girl on account of that holy man, my uncle. But please tell me what Malachi is like." "Oh," said Phinias, clapping his horny hands and giving vent to a roaring laugh. "There's a boy for ye, if ye like. There ain't a boy in any part of Ireland, from east to west, from north to south, can beat Malachi; why he could sit a horse that would throw anyone else off its back in a twinklin'. The horse may buck-jump, may do any mortal thing he likes to do, but once Malachi's acrost him, 'tis no use and he knows it, for there Malachi'll stay." "And tell me about the others, please," said Margot. "Oh, the ladies, ye mane. They're young, mortal young--they are babes of innocence. They don't know the world and they don't want to. Malachi breaks in horses for 'em, and they ride and ride and ride, and that's about all they can do. Fergus, the wan who is to take the title after his father, is more severe like, but he's a handsome lad for all that, and so is Bruce for that matter." "And do they all live at Desmondstown?" inquired Margot. "To be sure, and where else would they live!" "But they can't be so young if my mother was their sister," said Margot. Phinias bent towards the little girl. "Whist, missie, whist, _mavourneen_" he said. "We never talks of birthdays in the ould country. Age! We don't know what age is. If we ever knew it we forgets it. We are all young--young as new-born chicks. Now then, missie, you'd best go and lie down, for it may be gettin' a bit rough by-the-bye, and we're due at Rosslare early in the morning."