"Worth it!" cried The Desmond. "There never was her like before in the world. Good-night, Fergus. You are my heir, remember, and you'll be The Desmond after me. But listen here and now--old men die off quick sometimes, and if anything happens to me she's your charge." "Of course, father; can you doubt it?" "That's all right. I'm going to bed," said The Desmond. He slowly left the room. There was a great rejoicing in his heart; he saw real, true goodness when it was brought before him. The little pushkeen should not suffer for her confidence in him. He had loved her before; now his love filled his heart to the very brim. Fergus sat for some time by the turf fire in his father's sitting-room and laughed quietly and softly to himself at the way the little pushkeen had managed The Desmond, who imagined _he_ was the only one of all the family of Desmonds who knew the true story of the _établissement_ at Arles. "I never saw the old fellow so took up with anything," thought Fergus to himself. "The girls and Bruce and Malachi must never know, and of course I'll _pretend_ never to know. It's all right--better than right--brave little pushkeen." CHAPTER XXIII. THE GLORIOUS SOFTNESS OF IRELAND. Little Margot soon settled down into the life she loved best. Her object was to please her dear granddad. She was fond of her uncles and her old-young aunts and of dear, stately little Madam, but there was no one in all the world like The Desmond himself. In her sweet presence he became a sort of child again. He went out, holding her little brown hand, and although it was still too early in the year to gather many flowers, such as grew in profusion in the south of France, they did find wonderful mosses, and the first, sweet, daring crocuses, and snowdrops and even primroses. [Illustration: They did find wonderful mosses and snow drops and even primroses.--_Page 349._] Margot used to pick them and bring them into granddad's room and arrange them with her exquisite taste for his comfort and pleasure. Hitherto he had called flowers more or less rubbish, but now this human flower had taught him to love all the flowers and green things of the fields. The mosses, fructifying in their full perfection, delighted the old man as much as the child. He polished up an ancient microscope, and they examined these treasures of nature together side by side. They did not want to talk about anything else while the beautiful mosses were in their bloom. The Desmond even went to the expense of getting high glass globes to cover the mosses, which caused them to grow up tall and strong, and the two--the old and the young child--felt the perfection of joy as they watched them. "Oh, granddad, you are _so_ funny," said little Margot. Granddad replied by "Hip, hip, hurrah! _Erin go bragh_;[1] the pushkeen forever."