"Lor' love ye, my pretty," said Annie.
Margot scampered across the field. Presently she reached "himself" as he was planting the young spring cabbages.
"Phinias," said Margot, "you are just a darling."
"Be I?" said Phinias. "You do use pretty words, missie, asthore."
"It's what I feel, Phinias. Now I've spoken to Annie and Annie is satisfied, and I'll pay all your expenses and my expenses, too. I can't run away alone, because I'm too small; but Phinias, I'm going to run away."
"Lor' bless us and save us," cried Phinias, "and you the idol of The Desmond's dear old heart."
"Sometimes we must be parted from the people we love," said Margot. "Get the cart ready as fast as you can, Phinias, and put on your best things and come with me. You must take me straight, right away, this blessed minit, to dear Uncle Jacko. As soon as ever I get there you can go home again. And when you get home you'll carry a letter with you which I'll have written, and you'll put it yourself into the hands of The Desmond. That's all; and you'll get three pounds besides your food and your travelling. Come along this blessed minute, Phinias; there isn't a moment to spare."
Phinias stared out of his truly Irish eyes; his wide mouth grinned a trifle. He looked a little sheepish, a little glad, vastly surprised; but in the end Margot got her way. She was seated beside Phinias in the queer little cart.
They went by a road they did not usually go, and arrived at a railway station which they did not generally get to, and there they took train for Rosslare.