"Do let's walk a little faster, Uncle Fergus," said Margot turning to her uncle.
His grave face looked at her searchingly, then he said in a quiet tone,
"The avenue is a bit too long for a wee thing like you. See, I'm going to stoop. Put your arms round my neck, so. Now, then, hold tight. I have you on my shoulder as firm as can be."
"Oh, thank you, thank you," said Margot. "I do like you, Uncle Fergus, and I like Eileen."
"But why don't you like the others? They are harmless enough, poor bit things."
"Yes, but they were not hatched yesterday," said Margot. "That I do know and I won't play horses with that horrid Mr. Flannigan!"
"Malachi is fit to tear his hair," exclaimed Fergus. "He has just sent off a stud of horses to Dublin for sale, so there isn't one he can offer ye to ride."
"I like you very much as a horse, Uncle Fergus," said Margot.
"Do ye now? Well, that's all right."
"Did you love my mother, Uncle Fergus?"