"'Yer another,' says Satan. 'Isn't a sparrer in yer hand betther than a goose on a shtring?'
"So they were goin' on wid the blaggârdin' match, whin the blessed saint, that come out whin he heard thim begin, an' thin set on the dure a-watchin', to see that owld Nick didn't schamp the job, interfared.
"'Howld yer pace, Satan, an' kape at yer work,' says he. 'An' for you, ye blatherin', milk-faced villin, wid the heart as[pg 188] black as a crow, walk aff wid ye an' go down on yer hard-hearted onbelavin' knees, or it's no good 'ull come o' ye.' An' so he did.
"Do I belave the shtory? Troth, I dunno. It's quare things happened in them owld days, an' there's the face on the clift as ugly as the divil cud be an' the hammer an' chisel are in the church an' phat betther proof cud ye ax?
"Phat come av the lovers? No more do I know that, barrin' they grew owld an' shtayed poor an' forgot the shpring-time av youth in the winter av age, but if they lived a hunderd years, they niver forgot the marryin' in the saint's cave, wid the black face av the Avil Wan lookin' on from the dark corner."
THE DEFEAT OF THE WIDOWS.
