Part 5 (2/2)

”'No Kevin,' says Satan, a-throwin' himself on Kevin's breast, wid both arrums round his neck, 'I'll never lave ye,' lettin' an to cry an' dhrop tears an the face o' the blessed saint.

”It's no aisy matther to say no to a woman anyhow, aven to an ugly woman, but when it's a good-lookin' wan that's in it, an' she axin' ye wid her arrums round ye an' the crystal dhrops like that many dimunds fallin' from her eyes that look at ye like shtars through a shower av rain, begob it's meself that doesn't undhershtand why Saint Kevin didn't give up at wanst, an' so he wud if he hadn't been the blessed saint that he was. But he was mightily fl.u.s.thered, an' no wondher, an' stud there wid his breast hayvin', a-shtrivin' to resist the timptation to thrade a crown in heaven fur a love on airth.

”'Lave this place, Kevin,' says the tempther, 'an' come wid me, we'll go away an' be happy together forever,' an' wid that word, an' as the fate av the saint was trimblin' in the balances, the holy angels o' G.o.d stud beside him, an' wan whishpered in his ear that the Kathleen he loved before was a pure, good woman, an' that she'd 'a' died afore she'd come to him that-a-way.

”'No,' says he, wid sudden shtrength. 'It's not Kathleen that's in it, but an avil sper't. G.o.d's prisence be about us! Get you gone Satan an' sayce to throuble me,' an' that minnit the blessed saint jumped up aff the ground an' wid his two feet gev the owld rayprobate a thunderin' kick in the stummick, an' when he doubled up wid the pain an' fell back an'

clapped his hands together on the front av him, Saint Kevin gev him another in his rare, axin' yer pardon, that sent him clane over the clift, wid Saint Kevin gatherin' shtones an' flingin' thim afther him wid all the might that was in him. So the minnit the saint kicked him the very foorst kick, Kathleen disappeared, an' there was the owld black Belzebub a-tumblin' over, an' fallin' down to the lake, holdin' his stummick an'

thryin' hard to catch himself wid his wings afore he'd hit the wather. But he did by the time he got to the bottom an' flew away, bellerin' worse nor a bull with a dog hangin' to his nose, so that all the monks woke wid fright, an' cudn't go to shlape agin till they'd said a craydo an' five aves apiece, but the blessed saint set be his bed a-sayin' his baids the rest o' the night wid a pile o' shtones convaynient to his hand fur fear the divil 'ud come back. But Satan flew over an that hill an' rubbed himself before an' behind too, where the saint had kicked him, an' didn't go back, for he'd enough o' the saint fur that time. But he was mightily vexed, an' not to lose the chance fur to do some mischief before he'd go away, he pulled down all the walls that the poor monks had built that day.

”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 sarc.u.mspectin'

him.'

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 G.o.d, 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.

”'G.o.d save ye,' says the saint.

”'G.o.d 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 blaggard landlords in England,'

says he.

”'It's right ye are,' says the gintleman, 'but I've hopes o' betther times when the tinants get the land in their own hands,' says he. 'I'm goin' to right thim avils. I'm the new Lord Liftinant,' says he, 'an' able to help ye an the job, undher a proper undhershtandin',' says he.

”At foorst Saint Kevin was that surprised that he'd like to dhrop an the road, fur he hadn't heard av the 'pintmint av a new Lord Liftinant, but he raizoned wid himself that it cud aisily be done widout his knowin' av it, an' so he thought he'd a shtrake av luck in seein' av him.

”'G.o.d be good to yer Lords.h.i.+p,' says he, 'an' make yer bed in the heavens, an' it's thankful I'd be fur any shmall favors ye plaze to give, fur it's very poor we are.'

”'An' phat 'ud ye say to a prisint av tin thousand pound,' says the gintleman, 'purvided ye spind it an the church ye have an' not in buildin'

a new wan,' says the gintleman, an' wid that word, Saint Kevin knew the ould inimy, an' shtarted at him.

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