"Uncle Jacko never does anything quite so foolish," replied Margot. "You don't understand him, and we won't talk of him any more."
"I like that," replied Phinias, "when him and me, we took eggs out of every wild bird's nest in the county."
"Well, then, it was you that tempted him," said Margot. "It was a bitter, cruel thing to do, and you ought to be 'shamed of yourself, Phinias."
"Lawk a mercy, listen to the bit thing," cried Phinias, with a hearty laugh. "Him and me was ekal in those days, though now he's above me—no doubt on that."
"He's a holy man, and you wouldn't have the right to tie his shoes," replied Margot.
Phinias gazed with some complacency and amusement at the quaint little figure. Presently he turned the conversation to long and exciting talks about Desmondstown and the young ladies and the young gentlemen and old madam and The Desmond himself.
"Ye'll have to be mighty particular when ye gets there, little miss. The Desmond won't stand any freedoms like. He's as proud as proud can be, though he's got nothing else to be proud of but that he's The Desmond, so ye must mind your p's and q's. Don't ye play any pranks on him, missie, or it'll turn out bad for ye."
"I won't, Phinias, I won't indeed. I'm going to be quite a good girl on account of that holy man, my uncle. But please tell me what Malachi is like."
"Oh," said Phinias, clapping his horny hands and giving vent to a roaring laugh. "There's a boy for ye, if ye like. There ain't a boy in any part of Ireland, from east to west, from north to south, can beat Malachi; why he could sit a horse that would throw anyone else off its back in a twinklin'. The horse may buck-jump, may do any mortal thing he likes to do, but once Malachi's acrost him, 'tis no use and he knows it, for there Malachi'll stay."
"And tell me about the others, please," said Margot.