"’Glory be to God,’ says the saint. ’Lie you there till I make an example av ye,’ says he, an’ turned to look fur Lord Robert, bekase he knewn the two o’ thim ’ud be in it. But the Sassenagh naded no invitation to be walkin’ aff wid himself, but whin he seen phat come to the divil, he run away wid all the legs he had, an’ the witch wid him, an’ Tim afther thim wid a whoop an’ a fishtful av shtones. But they left him complately an’ got away disconsarted, an’ Tim come back. "’Raise up,’ says Saint Tigernach to the divil, ’an’ shtand in the corner,’ makin’ the blessed sign on the ground afore him. ’I’m afther marryin’ these two at wanst, widout fee or license, an’ you shall be the witness.’ "So he married thim there, while the divil looked on. Faix, it’s no lie I’m tellin’ ye; it’s not the onliest marryin’ the divil’s been at, but he’s not aften seen at thim when he’s in as low sper’ts as he was at that. But it was so that they were married wid Satan fur a witness, an’ some says the saint thransported thim to Kerry through the air, but ’t isn’t meself that belaves that same, but that they walked to Kilrush an’ wint to Kerry in a fisherman’s boat. "Afther they’d shtarted, the saint turns to Satan an’ says, ’No more av yer thricks wid them two, me fine felly, fur I mane to give you a job that’ll kape ye out av mischief fur wan time at laste,’ fur he was mightily vexed wid him a-comin’ that-a-way right into his cave the same as if the place belonged to him. "’Go you to work,’ says he, ’an’ put yer face on the rock over the shpring, so that as long as the mountain shtands min can come an’ see phat sort av a dirthy lookin’ baste ye are.’ "So Satan wint out an’ looked up at the rock, shmilin’, as fur to say that was no great matther, an’ whin the blessed man seen the grin that was on him, he says, ’None av yer inchantmints will I have at all, at all. It’s honest work ye’ll do, an’ be the same token, here’s me own hammer an’ chisel that ye’ll take,’ an’ wid that the divil looked mighty sarious, an’ left aff grinnin’ for he parsaived the clift was granite. "’Sure it’s jokin’ yer Riverince is,’ says he, ’ye don’t mane it. Sorra the harder bit av shtone bechuxt this an’ Donegal,’ an’ it was thrue for him, fur he knewn the coast well. "’Bad luck to the taste av a lie’s in it,’ says the saint. ’So take yer waypons an’ go at it, owld Buck-an’-Whey, fur the sooner ye begin, the quicker ye’ll be done, an’ the shtone won’t soften be yer watin’. Mind ye kape a civil tongue in yer head while ye’re at the job, or it’ll be a holiday to the wan I’ll find ye,’ says he, lookin’ at him very fierce.