"Now whin Saint Kevin conshecrated the church, they tuk wid it the ground round about as far as ye see that shtone wall, for, says he, ’Sure it’ll always be handy.’ So in coorse o’ time, as the second church was gettin’ done, wan avenin’ Saint Kevin went out wid a bucket fur to milk his cow, that had just come down from the mountain where she’d been grazin’. Well, he let the calf to her, an’ the poor little baste bein’ hungry, fur I belave the cow hadn’t come up the night afore, it begun on wan side an’ the saint an the other, an’ the calf was suckin’ away wid all the jaws it had, an’ kep’ up a haythenish punchin’ wid its nose beways av a hint to the cow fur to give up more milk. The calf punched an’ the cow kicked, fur, mind ye, the divil was in thim both, the poor bastes, no more was it their fault at all, an’ betune howldin’ the bucket in wan hand an’ milking wid the other wan, an’ kapin’ his eye shkinned for the cow’s heels, an’ shovin’ the calf from his side, the saint was like to lose all the milk. "’Tatther an’ agers,’ says he, ’shtand shtill, ye onnattheral crayther, or I’ll bate the life out o’ ye, so I will,’ says he, tarin’ mad, fur the calf was gettin’ all, an’ the bottom o’ the bucket not covered. But the cow wudn’t do it, so the blessed saint tuk the calf be the years fur to drag him away, an’ then the cow run at him wid her horns so that he had to let go the calf’s years an’ dodge an’ was in a bother entirely. But he got him a club in case the cow ’ud offer fur to hook him agin, an’ opened the gate into the field behind the church, an’ afther a good dale o’ jumpin’ about he sucsayded in dhrivin’ in the cow an’ kapin’ out the calf. Then he shut the gate an’ wipin’ the shweat aff his blessed face, he got the bucket an’ shtool an’ set down to milk in pace. But be this time the cow was tarin’ mad at bein’ shut from the calf, an’ at the first shquaze he gev her, she jumped like she’d heard a banshee, an’ then phat ’ud she do but lift up her heel an’ give him a kick an the skull fit to crack it fur him an’ laid him on the grass, an’ turnin’ round, she put her fut in the bucket an’ stud lookin’ at him, as fur to ax if he’d enough. "’The divil brile the cow,’ says the saint, God forgive him fur cursin’ her, but ye see he’d lost all consate av her be the throuble he’d had wid her afore, besides the crack on his head, that was well nigh aiquel to the kick he cud give himself, so that he was axcusable fur phat he was sayin’, fur it’s no joke I’m tellin’ ye to be made a showbogher av, be a baste av a cow. "’Sure I will, yer Riverince,’ says a deep voice behind him, ’an’ thank ye fur that same favor, fur it’s a fat bit she is.’