"Child to my holy Uncle Jacko!" exclaimed Margot. "No, she's Reparation, that's what she is. Don't keep me now, Annie, I'll come to see you to-morrow or next day."
Then Phinias, who intended to offer a very nervous paw for the little girl to shake, but was rewarded by a hearty and most vigorous kiss, lifted Missie and Reparation into the funny cart. The luggage was lifted in also and they started off, bump, bump, uphill and down dale, all the way to Desmondstown.
Margot was almost too excited to speak. The clergyman walked beside Phinias and kept talking to him, and each moment the road became ruddy with more firelight and great shoots of flame rose up and filled the air, for was not the furze dry and firm and were there not great stacks of it, and did not gossoons keep putting fresh supplies on, all in honour of missie asthore, the darling of The Desmond?
Tilly, in her uncomfortable seat, felt very tired and half dropped asleep, but Margot suggested that she should sit on one of the bags and lean her head against Margot's own knee and, then, disgraceful as it may sound, Tilly did drop asleep.
But when they came to Desmondstown itself, there was such yelling and waving and dancing and laughter—laughter so loud and yet so clear—that even English Tilly could not sleep through it. And behold! All the old-youngs were waiting at the gate to welcome them, and the largest bonfires of all were alongside of the avenue, which Tilly described afterwards to her English friends as a wall of fire.
"It was done in honour of us," she wrote. "They know how to welcome people properly in Ireland."
But in addition to the bonfires, great arches had been flung up across the weedy narrow path, and on these were written the well-known Irish words, "Céad míle fáilte," which seemed to be to right and left of little Margot; she knew well now the meaning of the generous and noble words.
Tilly was wide awake with a vengeance, and the old-youngs, both boys and girls, ran down the avenue with whoops and cries and "Céad míle fáilte, pushkeen," sounding from their lips.
At last they reached the old porch and entered by the wide double oak doors, and there, behold, stood Madam, and Fergus with his grave, still face, and in the distance The Desmond was to be seen, holding a lighted torch in his hand. Very erect indeed was The Desmond, and his beard seemed longer and whiter than ever, and his eyes blacker and more piercing, and his great stalwart form was like that of a giant.
Margot flew like a little creature all on wires from Uncle Fergus to Madam.