But O'Connell's only happiness was in Peg and he neither heard nor
cared about any criticism that may have been levelled at him for his
fond, and, perhaps, foolish care of her.

Looming large in Peg's memories in after life are her father showing
her St. Kernan's Hill, and pointing out the mount on which he stood
and spoke that day, whilst her mother, hidden by that dense mass of
trees, saw every movement and heard every word. From there he took
her to "The Gap" and pointed out the windows of the room in which he
was nursed for those three blessed days.

It eased his mind to talk to the child of Angela and always he
pictured her as the poet writes in verse of the passion of his life:
as the painter puts on canvas the features that make life worth the
living for him.

Those memories were very clear in little Peg's mind.

Then somehow her childish thoughts all seemed to run to Home Rule--
to love of Ireland and hatred of England--to thinking all that was
good of Irishmen and all that was bad of Englishmen.

"Why do yez hate the English so much, father?" she asked O'Connell
once, looking up at him with a puzzled look in her big blue eyes,
and the most adorable brogue coming fresh from her tongue.

"Why do yez hate them?" she repeated.

"I've good cause to, Peg me darlin'," he answered, and a deep frown
gathered on his brow.