"She is that," replied the Reverend John, "and I'm sending her over to see her own people for one week and no more. I'd take it as a high favour, Phinias, if you would put her into the right train for Kerry and see after her a little bit when she lands, for she is only a wee colleen—half French, half Irish. You might help me that much for the sake of old times, Phinias Maloney."
"Have no fear, man," was Phinias' reply. "I keep me father's old farm and have a wife and three fine childer. They are frettin' like anythin' at me leaving of 'em, but I had to go to get praties that'll yield a good harvest. What did ye say the little miss's name was?"
"Marguerite St. Juste."
"Ah, well, I can't quite get my tongue round that, but I'll call her Magsie—her'll understand Magsie—it's a good sounding, sensible title wid no foreign blood about it."
Accordingly Uncle John placed his pretty little treasure in very capable hands. Phinias Maloney was a very rough-looking man, but he was the soul of honesty and good nature, and had the highest respect in the world for the Desmonds of Desmondstown. He went and had a chat with the captain, who, as a great favour, allowed him to sit on deck with little Margot. But Margot's black eyes were brimful of tears. She was by no means taken by the look of Phinias, and her frantic desire to see her grandparents and aunts and uncles well nigh vanished when she parted with her beloved Jacko.
"Now then, missie, we'll have a fine time," said Phinias. "The wather smooth as a pond and you going to the most elegant place in the whole of the county of Kerry. I can't make out how 'himself' is your uncle, but there! I don't bother me head wid what I don't understand. He's a good fellow is John Mansfield."
"He's the best man in all the world," said Margot, crushing back her tears with an effort. "He's a very, very holy man, but my aunt, she's a wicked woman. I mustn't tell the Desmonds about her, Phinias, but she is a very wicked woman, and but for me, that holy saint wouldn't live long. It's me he really loves. He pretends to love her, but that is just because of his holiness. Are you a holy man, Phinias Maloney?"
"Ach, not me!" said Phinias. "I has enough to do without bein' howly as well. My poor knees wouldn't stand it"
"What do you mean by that, Phinias, aren't you a bit silly?" said Margot. She had begun to get over a little of her grief and to enjoy a talk with her peculiar-looking companion. "What do you mean? Speak, man," she repeated.
"I manes this, missie asthore. Howly men are most found on their bent knees wid their heads thrown back cryin' out to God A'mighty to have mercy on miserable sinners."