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Updated: May 26, 2025
Keven was a handsome young man of twenty, he made up his mind to be a priest, and a saint so, gave up all thoughts of love and marriage, and devoted himself to a life of loneliness, privation, and penance. To her surprise and mortification, he not only did not accept, but actually ran away from her.
This is usually called "The Valley of the Seven Churches;" for here, in a very small space, are the ruins of that number of rude little churches, and several other edifices, most of them said to have been built as early as the sixth century, by St. Keven.
In our day, there would have been a hue and cry raised a coroner's inquest a great talk in the newspapers a trial and, if the jury agreed, a hanging; but there was nothing of the kind in that benighted time nobody arrested Keven, or punished him, and he went on his pious way in peace, building churches and monasteries, and working miracles, or what passed for such, till he got to be a very famous saint indeed.
Rip pushed the lock bar and pulled himself in by grabbing the door frame. He couldn’t help thinking it was a rather undignified way to make an entrance. Seated in an acceleration chair, a safety belt across his middle, was Space Commander Keven O’Brine, an Irishman out of Dublin. He was short, as compact as a deto-rocket, and obviously unfriendly.
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