Her young-old Aunt Norah was walking by, leaning confidentially on the arm of Mr. Flannigan. They were evidently too much absorbed with each other to take the least notice of the child. Margot earnestly hoped they would not stop--she had no desire to act as an eavesdropper, and yet she could not get away without being seen. "I'm a bit tired, me honey," said old-young Aunt Norah. "Let me lean on your shoulder, avick. There, that's better. Shall we sit a while? I'm not one for minding the damp, being brought up in it, so to speak." "Eh, but listen, mavourneen," said the almost husky voice of Flannigan, "ye might catch the bitter cowld, me pretty pet, and then where in the wide world would your Samuel be?" "Why, you'd be where you always were," replied young-old Aunt Norah. "Ah, but no! I'd be in the cowld grave," said Samuel Flannigan. "Do ye think I could live another minute without ye, Norah, me bit thing?" This was too much for little Margot. She would _not_ be an eavesdropper. She must explain. She came out from under the shelter of the fir tree, and flinging the cowslips and the primroses into the lap of old-young Aunt Norah, she exclaimed: "I'm here and I know. It's lovely to listen, but I mustn't listen. I'll leave you to yourselves. I didn't think you two would take up silly at your age, but I forgot you were young-old, and that sort does anything." The two stared at her with their mouths open, and manifest consternation in their faces. "Is it tellin', ye are going to be?" said young-old Aunt Norah. "To be sure not--I've nothing to tell. If I'd stayed a bit longer I might have heard more. Phinias did say to me once that you and himself there, were familiar-like; but I didn't know what it meant, and I don't know what it means now, only that he calls you 'me honey,' and you stick to him in the dripping, pouring rain. Well, if you like it I don't care; I'm going home." "No; you are not," said old-young Aunt Norah. "You've heard too much, and you shall hear the rest. We are going to be married, me and this gentleman." "Married?" cried little Margot. "Whatever is that?" "My child, it is the gift of heaven," said Samuel Flannigan. Margot raised her black eyes to the dripping skies. "It seems to come down in a good pour," she said. "Still, I don't understand." "You know about Madam and your granddad," cried young-old Aunt Norah. "To be sure; am I wanting in sense entirely?" "Well, they're married, the same as we'll be very soon, very soon." "Oh, deary me!" cried little Margot. "That does sound lovely. Only you know, Mr. Samuel Flannigan, you haven't got the beautiful face of my granddad, so perhaps your little children won't be _quite_ as lovely. I wonder how many you'll have. My old nurse at Uncle Jacko's said that when I cracked my fingers, every crack meant a wee babe. Shall I crack them now for you two?" "Oh, child, you are too awful," cried Aunt Norah, who found herself blushing in the most uncomfortable way.