blessed it an' hurried on, but though he
didn't forget it, intindin', I belave, to go back, the divil tuk up his
quarthers there, to make it as sure as he cud. But when he heard av Saint
Kevin's doin's, it was too much fur him, so he shtarted an' come from
Kerry to Glendalough wid wan jump, an' there sure enough, the walls o' the
church were risin' afore his eyes, an' as he stud on that hill he heard
the avenin' song o' the monks that were helpin' Saint Kevin in the work.
So the divil was tarin' mad, an' stud on the brow o' the hill, cursin' to
himself an' thinkin' that if any more churches got into Ireland, his job
o' work 'ud be gone, an' he'd betther go back to England where he come
from. He made up his mind though, that he'd do fur Saint Kevin if he cud,
but mind ye, the blessed saint was so well beknownst to all the counthry,
that the divil was afeared to tackle him. So he laid about in the grass,
on his breast like a sarpint fur three or four days till they were
beginnin' to put the roof on, and then he thought he'd thry.

"Now I must tell ye wan thing. The blessed saint was at that time only a
young felly, though they don't make 'em any betther than he was. When he
left home, he'd a shweetheart be the name o' Kathleen, an' she loved him
betther than her life, an' so did he her in that degray that he'd lay down
an' die on the shpot fur the love av her, but his juty called him fur to
be God's priest, an' he turned his back on father an' mother an' saddest
av all on Kathleen, though it was like tarin' out his heart it was, an'
came to Glendalough. Kathleen was like to die, but afther a bit, she got
over it a little an' went into a convent, for, says she, 'I'll marry no
wan, an' 'ull meet him in heaven.' But Saint Kevin didn't know phat had
become av her, an' thried hard not to think av her, but wanst in a while
the vision av her 'ud come back to him like the mem'ry av a beautiful
dhrame.

"Now about this time, while the divil was layin' about in the bushes
a-watchin' the work, an' the tower of the big church was liftin' itself
above the trees, the blessed saint begun to be onaisy in his mind, fur,
says he to himself, 'Things is too aisy entirely. It's just thim times
when all is goin' on as smooth as a duck on a pond that the divil comes
down like a fox on a goslin' an' takes every wan unbeknownst, so wins the
vict'ry. I'll have a care, fur afther the sunshine comes the shtorm,' says
he. So that avenin' he ordhered