A gentleman building a house at Tholt-e-Will, at the base of Snaefell, quarried stones on the beach. One immense block of white stone could not be moved despite the united strength of all the men in the parish. Overnight the Phynnodderee carried not only this block but the entire quarry of over a hundred cartloads from the shore to the building site. When the grateful gentleman laid out clothing for him, the Phynnodderee picked up each piece and lamented in Manx: cap for the head, alas poor head; coat for the back, alas poor back. Then he departed forever, mourning: if these be all thine, thine cannot be the merry Glen of Rushen.