Now of course Desmondstown was a typical old Irish place. It was going to rack and ruin as fast as ever it could. There was no money to keep it in order. There was just enough money to supply food and a sort of clothing for the inmates, to supply Malachi with horses, which he trained, some for himself, some for his sisters, some for his brothers, and the rest of which he sold, giving his father one-half of the profits. Malachi's horses were almost the only available assets at Desmondstown; for The Desmond, although fierce, even ferocious at times, was good-natured to his tenants and strictly forbade any evictions on his estates. He gave his sons the scantiest of all possible educations with the exception of Fergus, who was his heir. Fergus, by scraping and toiling, he managed to send first of all to a fairly good school and then to Trinity College, Dublin. Fergus he also supplied with suitable clothes, but he never thought of his earning any money. It never occurred to him that any of his sons should work. Debts abounded all over the place and Desmondstown was in reality mortgaged very nearly up to the hilt. The gardens had gone to ruin, the ancient avenue was more like a field path than anything else. All the gardeners had been dismissed. Only the stablemen and grooms and the garden boy remained outside the house, and within there were the cook, Biddy Magee, and the housemaid, Grace Connor, and Peter, the old butler. These were typical Irish people, untidy, not too clean, but, as The Desmond said, all that he could possibly afford. Bit by bit, and by slow degrees, the lovely china, the Chippendale furniture, the coats of mail, which were supposed to decorate the old hall, disappeared in order that there might be food and wine for The Desmond and his tribe. There was also a quantity of valuable silver, the most famous in the county, which followed the same fate. The carpets were worn to shreds, the curtains hung in tatters from the windows--everything was in a hopeless state of confusion. In fact, a more dilapidated home than Desmondstown could scarcely be found anywhere, even in that region of dilapidated homes, the county of Kerry. Nevertheless, the Misses Desmond held their heads high, and their brothers, with the exception of Fergus, were highly popular in the neighbourhood. Fergus was grave and dark, like his father before him. Now and then he even felt a degree of sorrow at the rapid decay of the old place. But to work--to have it even _said_ that the man who would one day be The Desmond should work--was beyond his wildest dreams. He led a rather melancholy life therefore, taking little or no notice of his sisters, but often walking out with his old father, who was becoming glad of the support of his stalwart arm.