It's The Irish In Me

It's The Irish In Me

Seamus carried a single shamrock tied with a gold and green ribbon. He presented it with boldness to Colleen. She took one look at his offering and turned up her freckled nose.

“Do ye not like it?” he asked, downcast.

“I can get Roses of Shannon whenever I want for all the lads who court me,” she sniffed haughtily.

“But this is so much more festive!” he protested.

“If you really appreciated me, you’d give me gold from your pot!”

“Me gold! But I’m not sure I feel that way about ye!”

“Well, in that case, ye can forget about courtin’ the likes o’me!”

Seamus was truly crushed. He’d love Colleen for as long as he could remember.

"I’ve loved since I first began collecting gold fer me pot. I decided then that when I had enough, I’d marry her!” Seamus reminded himself forlornly. But no matter how much gold he had, the more he seemed to want.

“Married life is expensive I’m told,” he muttered.

So, for the rest of the day, Seamus worked half-heartedly on fixing a left shoe. When dusk fell, he decided to count his potted gold. He counted it three times and got a different total every time.

“’Faith, how can this be? Is me gold vanishing? Perhaps some other leprechaun is sneaking in and taking it?” Seamus worried.

He felt forced to stay up watching his pot all night. He saw nothing, but when he counted it again in the morning, ten pieces were missing. Frantic now, he decided he must bury it somewhere no one else would think of.

“But where?” he whispered as he cudgeled his brain.

Every idea he came up with, he rejected. Until at last, there was only one place he could put it.