ld Inimy, an' remind
him that, bein' as he'd failed to get Kathleen, their bargain was aff. So
he made the charm Satan gev him, but he didn't come fur anny thrial he'd
make.

"'Bad scran to the Imp,' says he. 'Sure he must be mighty busy or maybe
he's forgot entirely.'

"So he out an' wint to see the witch, but she wasn't in, an' while he was
waitin' for her, bein' not far away from the saint's cave, he thought he'd
have a peep, an' see if Tim an' Kathleen were shtill there. So he crawled
over the top o' the hill beyant the cave like the sarpint that he was, an'
whin he come down a little, he seen the owld Pooka on the clift, wid the
hammer in wan hand an' the chisel in the other a poundin' away at the rock
an' hangin' on be his tail to a tree. Lord Robert thought the eyes 'ud
lave his head, fur he seen it was the divil sure enough, but he cudn't
rightly make out phat he was doin'. So he crawled down till he seen, an'
thin, whin he undhershtood, he riz an' come an' took a sate on a big
shtone ferninst the clift, a shlappin' his legs wid his hands, an' roarin'
an' the wather bilin' out av his eyes wid laughin'.

"'Hilloo Nickey,' says he, when he'd got his breath agin an' cud shpake.
'Is it yerself that's in it?' Mind the impidince av him, shpakin' that
familiar to the inimy av our sowls, but faix, he'd a tongue like a
jewsharp, an' cud use it too.

"'Kape from me,' says Satan to him agin, as crass as two shticks, an'
widout turnin' his head fur to raigard him. 'Lave me! Begorra, I'll wipe
the clift aff wid yer carkidge if ye come anny closter,' says he.

"'A-a-a-h, woorroo, now. Aisey, ye desayvin' owld blaggard,' says Lord
Robert, as bowld as a ram, fur he knewn that Satan daren't lave the job to
come at him. 'Will ye kape yer timper? Sure ye haven't the manners av a
goat, to be shpakin' to a gintleman like that. I've just come to tell ye
that bein' ye failed, our bargain 's aff,' says he.

"'Out wid ye,' says the divil, turnin' half round an' howldin' be wan hand
to the big shtone nose he'd just done, an' shakin' the other fist wid the
chisel in it at Lord Robert. 'D' ye think I want to be aggervated wid the
likes av ye, ye whey-faced shpalpeen, an' me losin' the whole day, an'
business pressin' at this saison, an' breakin' me back on the job, an' me
fingers sore wid the chisel, an' me tail shkinned wid howldin' on? Bad
luck to the shtone, it's harder than a Scotchman's head, it is, so it is,'
says he, turnin' b