She was christened Margaret.

Angela, one night, when it was nearing her time, begged him if it were
a girl to christen her Margaret after her mother, since all the best in
Angela came from her mother.

O'Connell would have liked to have named the mite "Angela." But his
dead wife's wishes were paramount So Margaret the baby was christened.
It was too distinguished a name and too long for such a little bundle
of pink and white humanity. It did not seem to fit her. So, "Peg" she
was named and "Peg" she remained for the rest of her life.

When she was old enough to go with him O'Connell took Peg everywhere.
He seemed to bear a charmed life when she was with him.

Peg's earliest memories are of the village where she was baptised and
where her father was born. Her little will was law to everyone who came
in contact with her. She ruled her little court with a hand of iron.

Many were the dire predictions of the rod O'Connell was making for his
own back in giving the little mite her own way in everything.

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.

"Sure wasn't me mother English?" Peg asked.

"She was."

"Then WHY do yez hate the En