"Now there’s thim that says that it was the rale Kathleen that Saint Kevin kicked over the clift, but sure that’s not thrue, fur it’s not in an Irishman to thrate a woman that-a-way, that makes me belave that the shtory I’m tellin’ ye was the thrue shtory an’ that it wasn’t Kathleen at all, but Satan, that Saint Kevin thrated wid such onpoliteness, an my blessin’ an him fur that same, fur he come out very well axceptin’ five or six blisthers on his face, where the divil’s tears touched him, that’s well known to make blisthers on phatever they touch. "Well, as I was sayin’, he pulled down the church walls, an’ the monks put thim up agin, an’ the next mornin’ they were down, an’ so fur a good bit the contist went an betune the divil an’ the monks, a-shtrivin’ if they cud build up fashter than he cud pull down, fur he says to himself, Satan did, ’Jagers, I can’t be losin’ me time here widout doin’ something, nor, bedad, no more can I tell how to rache the saint widout sarcumspectin’ him.’ [Illustration: Saint Kevin and the Devil] "But the saint bate him at that game, for wan night, afther the work was done, he put half the monks on the wall to watch there the night, an’ when Satan come flyin’ along like the dirthy bat that he was, there was the monks all along be the day’s job, aitch wan a-sayin’ his baids as fast as he cud an’ a bottle o’ holy wather be his side to throw at the divil when he’d come. So he went from thim an’ be takin’ turns at watchin’ an’ workin’, they finished the church. "In coorse o’ time, Saint Kevin wanted another church an’ begun to build it too, for he said, ’Begob, I’ll have that church done be fall if every grain o’ sand in Glendalough becomes a divil an’ rises up fur to purvint it,’ an’ so he did, Glory be to God, but at first was bothered to git the money fur to raise the walls. Well, wan day as he was in the bother, he was walkin’ an the hills, an’ he heard the clattherin’ av a horse’s feet behind him an the road, an’ afore he cud turn round, up comes the most illigant black horse ye ever seen, an’ a tall gintleman a ridin’ av him, wid all the look av a soger, a broad hat on the head av him, an’ a silk jacket wid goold trimmin’s, an’ shtripes on his britches, an’ gloves to his elbows, an’ soord an’ shpurs a-jinglin’, the same as he was a rich lord. "’God save ye,’ says the saint. "’God save ye kindly,’ says the gintleman, an’ they walked an together an’ fell into convarsin’. "’I’m towld ye’re afther buildin’ another church,’ says the gintleman. "’It’s thrue for ye,’ says the saint, ’but it’s meself that’s bothered about that same, for I’ve no money,’ says he. "’That’s too bad,’ says the gintleman; ’have ye axed for help?’ says he. "’Faix, indade I have,’ says the saint, ’but the times is hard, an’ the money goin’ out o’ the counthry to thim blaggârd landlords in England,’ says he.