The Leprechaun

{c: green} The house was dreadfully cold today and Colleen had pulled on a soft, warm sweater in a bright shade of green that matched her eyes. She heard tapping as she went down the stairs to the finished basement. She started toward the wood burning stove in the corner and smiled when the tapping stopped abruptly.

“Grandfather, it’s only me,” she called over her shoulder as she put some wood in the stove.

Patrick O'Connor came out of his workshop wearing a leather apron over his work clothes. He was a short man and rather pudgy. Patrick lay his pipe down in an ashtray as he sank into a comfortable chair near the fire.

“You’re going to set your beard on fire with that pipe one of these days.” Colleen said mischievously. “Why aren’t you dressed, you’re going to be late for the parade.”

“It’s too cold to go out, me old bones can’t take it anymore,” her grandfather answered with a sigh.

Patrick O'Connor had always been a loner, rarely attending social events, but in his old age, he was definitely getting worse, going out only a few times a year. He always went to the St. Patrick’s Day parade though. Patrick O'Connor, you see, was a Leprechaun.

Colleen looked at her grandfather with concern realizing how old and frail he was becoming.  “Why don’t I make us some tea and you can tell me a story here by the fire.”

“Why don’t you pour us some good Irish Whiskey?” he answered. His eyes crinkled up as he gave her a roguish grin. “What kind of story would you like to hear?”

Colleen brewed the tea and placed it on a small table, then settled down in the other chair. “An Irish story,” she said. “It is St. Patrick’s Day tell me about Leprechauns.” she said with a smile knowing that was his favorite subject.

“Ah, said Patrick, “Well first off we don’t look like that silly little creature on the Lucky Charms box, dressed all in green and wearing buckled shoes and a top hat.  We are shoemakers by trade and very good at our craft making custom made shoes, not that mass produced rubbish you buy at Wal-Mart’s!”

“Do you have a pot of gold grandfather?”

“Indeed not, and I suppose you think I would keep that gold buried at the end of a rainbow?  No, my money is in a savings account at the Bank of Commerce on Main Street. It is peculiar what people believe in, girl.”

Colleen frowned. “But you are a leprechaun, aren’t you grandfather?”

“Yes, he said, “the name Leprechaun came from the Irish word for shoemaker and we are considered to be a type of fairy. It is said a leprechaun has magical powers and can grant three wishes to deserving citizens. Leprechauns carry two leather pouches, in one are silver coins and each time the money is spent it returns to the pouch. In the other are gold coins that are used when people try to capture one of us. The gold coins are given to them in return for our freedom, but once we are safely out of sight the gold turns to ashes.”

Patrick took a long sip of his tea and smiled at his granddaughter.  “I will tell you a better story, Colleen.” he said. 

Colleen looked up at him eagerly.

“Well then, there was an old man who lived alone in Ireland. His only son was in prison, and the old man didn't know anyone who would plow and harrow his potato garden so he  wrote to his son asking for advice, and received this reply, "For HEAVENS SAKE, don't dig up that garden, that's where I buried the guns!"

At four O’clock the next morning, a dozen British soldiers showed up and dug up the entire garden, but they didn't find any guns. Confused, the old man wrote to his son telling him what happened and asking him what to do next. His son replied: "Just plant your potatoes."

Colleen laughed, “I bet that is an Irish joke you found on the internet. You are a wonderful storyteller, but as usual a very cunning one Grandfather, for you, don’t say if leprechauns are really fairies or just part of Irish folklore.”

“Sure and begorrah, Colleen,  I am a leprechaun... a shoemaker.

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