"Ah, thin," exclaimed Phinias, "it's given but to a rare few, and they lives--well, somewhere above the stars I'm thinking--close to the golden gates, by the same token. There's no difference between 'The's' and Priests and Marquises and Counts where _he_ has fixed his gaze, yer honour. He's a howly man, that's what he be and 'the spiritual eye' in him is downright wonderful." "Well, thank ye, Phinias," said Fergus, after a pause. "I don't quite understand your full meaning, but I want the wee push-keen for my father, and if I can get her I will. How, then, will you call her out to me, for she may as well ride home on my shoulder?" "Ah to be sure, the pretty bit dear," said the farmer. He entered his untidy kitchen somewhat sorrowfully. He was thinking of John Mansfield. He did not see--being a very upright man himself--why even The Desmond should be considered, when he had taken no notice at all of the little 'herself' all these long, long years, and he thought his honour, Mr. Fergus, somewhat cruel to drag the child from his own friend. Fergus, however, having got the information he required did not give Phinias Maloney a further thought. Margot, in the highest spirits, rode back to Desmondstown on her uncle's shoulder. She had by this time become great friends with Aunt Eileen and she endured the passionate caresses of old young Aunt Norah and old young Aunt Bridget. She chattered a good deal as they all ate their lunch together about the baby who was real--real young. Aunt Norah let out one of her whoops and then one of her screeches, but The Desmond was too much absorbed with his plan to take much notice of her. On that same evening Fergus started for Rosslare _en route_ for Fishguard. He managed to find time to sell the old gold repeater and had in consequence sufficient money in his pocket for his immediate wants. Fergus Desmond did not much mind his shabby attire, nor his unwieldy-looking boots, nor his altogether Irish appearance. He had a goal in view and that goal he was determined to carry through if it cost him half his life. The Desmond was mad about little Margot and The Desmond must be satisfied. All in good time he arrived at Handley Vicarage. He enquired at once for the Rev. John Mansfield. Hannah opened the door for him and stared at him a good bit. It seemed as though Hannah, who was a most astute woman, was tracing out a likeness between Fergus and somebody else. Who could the somebody else be? Surely--surely not the bit girlie. Hannah was devoted to Margot and had bitterly regretted her visit to Ireland, but she was in all the throes of spring cleaning at the present moment, and altogether it was an awkward time for Fergus Desmond to come. "My master's out at the present moment," she said, "but if you'll tell me your name, sir, I'll let him know if you'd like to call again." "I'll wait here for him, thanks," said Fergus, "and I'd rather not give my name."