"Does I think it? Don't I _know_ it? It's hugging ye they'll be, and don't ye repulse them whatever ye does, and when the gurrls is kittenish, ye be kittenish too. Ah, well, I can't give any more advice for the present for I see several old friends makin' for this compartment, drat 'em, and ye must hould up your head and look mighty proud. The Desmonds of Desmondstown! there ain't their like in the county." Poor little Margot endured that long and weary journey as best she could. It was the spring of the year and the feeling of spring seemed to have got into the breast of every individual who crowded into that uncomfortable carriage. The farmers smoked and talked incessantly about the lambing season and Margot, presently, unable to keep her eyes open, dropped asleep with her head on the shoulder of Phinias. She felt as though she had known Phinias all her life by now. At Mallow they changed and Phinias provided a second excellent meal, also out of the birds' eggs which Uncle John had stolen before he became a saint. He further told the child that if she was in any sort of a bit of a throuble any wan would tell her where Phinias Maloney's farm was, and he'd help her and so would "herself" help her, and so would the childher help her from the bottom of their hearts. Then they got into the train, which took them into the famous and lovely county of Kerry and by-and-bye, about five in the evening, they drew up at a little wayside station. Here a very rough-looking cart was waiting for Phinias and a small boy who was addressed as "gossoon" was standing by the horse's head. Phinias was now most deferential in his manner to Margot. He got Nat, the gossoon, to assist him to hoist her old leather trunk into the cart, and then he whispered a word or two into the ears of the said gossoon, which induced the boy in question to give Margot many and amazed glances. "Ye couldn't reach to the height of her forever and ever and ever and a day," remarked Phinias to Nat, the gossoon. "Ain't she own granddaughter to The Desmond and child to beautiful Miss Kathleen--bless her white sowl--and wasn't her father a nobleman of France? You kape your manners tight on your head when ye look at her, Nat. We'll have to drive right round to Desmondstown. The young ladies must be expectin' her by now, belike, and thim young boys must be hankerin' for a sight of her. Now then, gee up, Dobbin, gee up!" Off they started in the springless cart, up hill and down dale. The evening light flooded the land and Margot was too excited and too fascinated by the beauty of the scene round her to remember either her deadly fatigue or any little stray crumbs of nervousness which might be lingering in her breast.