"And you work, while I am idle, little pushkeen," said Fergus Desmond.
"Oh, I don't mind—I—I like it," said little Margot.
"But it can't be any longer," said Fergus Desmond. "Put that twenty pounds into the ground at Desmondstown, pushkeen."
"Bury it?" said Margot with a look of horror.
"In a sort of way, bury it," said Fergus. "The old fruit trees are worn out, we'll buy new ones, you and I, and I'll turn into a real son of the soil, and the fruit trees will bring forth fruit and we'll sell them, you and I, pushkeen. It will be a joint concern between us. I'll do the work and I'll give you so much interest on the money. Now, not a word to The Desmond, not a word. We'll turn this rich piece of land into a beautiful thriving fruit garden, and I'll buy the young trees at once and you'll watch me while I'm making the desert blossom as a rose."
"Oh, Uncle Fergus, you are splendid!" said the child.
"Don't you fear but you'll get your money back and more," said Uncle Fergus. "I'm off to-day to get the young trees. I know where I can get them cheap."