"When the blessed Saint Pathrick was goin’ through Ireland from wan end to the other buildin’ churches, an’ Father Malone says he built three hundherd an’ sixty foive, that’s a good manny, he come to Roscommon be the way av Athlone, where ye saw the big barracks an’ the sojers. So he passed through Athlone, the counthry bein’ full o’ haythens entirely an’ not av Crissans, and went up the Shannon, kapin’ the river on his right hand, an’ come to a big peat bog, that’s where the lake is now. There were more than a thousand poor omadhawns av haythens a-diggin’ the peat, an’ the blessed saint convarted thim at wanst afore he’d shtir a toe to go anny furder. Then he built thim a church an the hill be the bog, an’ gev thim a holy man fur a priest be the name o’ Caruck, that I b’lave is a saint too or lasteways ought to be fur phat he done. So Saint Pathrick left thim wid the priest, givin’ him great power on the divil an’ avil sper’ts, and towld him to build a priest’s house as soon as he cud. So the blessed Caruck begged an’ begged as long as he got anny money, an’ whin he’d the last ha’penny he cud shtart, he begun the priest’s house fur to kape monks in. "But the divil was watchin’ him ivery minnit, fur it made the owld felly tarin’ mad to see himself bate out o’ the face that-a-way in the counthry where he’d been masther so long, an’ he detarmined he’d spile the job. So wan night, he goes to the bottom o’ the bog, an’ begins dammin’ the shtrame, from wan side to the other, layin’ the shtones shtrong an’ tight, an’ the wather begins a risin’ an the bog. Now it happened that the blessed Caruck wasn’t aslape as Satan thought, but up an’ about, for he misthrusted that the Owld Wan was dodgin’ round like a wayzel, an’ was an the watch fur him. So when the blessed man saw the wather risin’ on the bog an’ not a taste o’ rain fallin’, ’Phat’s this?’ says he. ’Sure it’s some o’ Satan’s deludherin’.’ "So down he goes bechuxt the hills an’ kapin’ from the river, an’ comes up below where the divil was workin’ away pilin’ on the airth an’ shtones. So he comes craipin’ up on him an’ when he got purty clost, he riz an’ says, ’Hilloo, Nayber!’ Now Belzebub was like to dhrop on the ground wid fright at the look av him, he was that astonished. But there was no gettin’ away, so he shtopped on the job, wiped the shweat aff his face, an’ says, ’Hilloo yerself.’ "’Ye’re at yer owld thricks,’ says the blessed Caruck. "’Shmall blame to me, that’s,’ says Belzebub, ’wid yer churches an’ saints an’ convartin’ thim haythens, ye’re shpiling me business entirely. Sure, haven’t I got to airn me bread?’ says he, spakin’ up as bowld as a cock, and axcusin’ himself.