"'Tis aunts they are to ye, my pretty."
"Yes, and what are the names of the boys, and what are they to me?"
"Uncles to be sure, acushla machree. There's Fergus, called after The Desmond, and there's Bruce and there's Malachi."
"Malachi—that does sound a funny name," said Margot.
"It belonged to the finest of the old Irish kings," said Uncle Jack, and he began to hum the well-known tune "When Malachi Wore His Collar of Gold."
"There now, that's enough," said Margot. "You are wonderful to-day, Jacko, you are quite wonderful. But can't we go to see them while auntie is away?"
"There's no money. Acushla machree, there isn't a penny."
"Look here, Jacko, and don't talk about there being no money. These are mine—they belong to me."
The child thrust her hand into her little pocket.
"Auntie thinks she keeps them for me, but I took them away my lone self ages and ages back and she has never missed them. They belonged to my father, who was the young Comte St. Juste. See, this seal and this watch and chain and this necklet he bought for mother, and these bracelets. We can sell 'em and get plenty of money to go to Desmondstown."