The Casebook of Doakes and Haig

As per usual, he was hard at work in the kitchen. On the stove a huge kettle boiled merrily away, reducing a leg of lamb to bits of meat and suet. Sprigs of fresh wintergreen, clover, thistle leaves and lavender were piled high on the table waiting to be blended with the fat. Several boxes of clear glass bottles - which cost me nearly six pence each - rested safely on the floor. At his bench, glasses perched high on his head, feet dangling several meters from the ground, Haig was busy pouring a fresh batch of Doakes and Haig Recipe Sweetener into a pint container. "How much did you sell?" he asked, not looking up.

"Just one container. Mrs. McLeary."

"So the old cow is still alive! And what did you charge her this time?"

"The usual." Here it comes.

The leprechaun turned and glared at me over his glasses. He looked so ludicrous; not a hand high, dressed in wool waistcoat and trousers, the tools he worked with as large or larger than he. How he did it I knew not and he refused to say, in fact refused to allow me to watch him at work. Somehow he managed. "How many times have I told you, boyo? Money. We need money!" and he rubbed his fingers together.

He was right about that. "Yes, so you have."

"Never do, never do," he turned his back to concentrate on his work. "Your father and grandfather, they understood. You, you have no more sense than the poorest inmate in Debtor's Prison."

"Better a little than none at all."

"Bah! If your father could see what you're doing to his business, he would turn over in his grave yes he would!" He continued muttering as he forced the stopper into the full bottle, then made a gesture. And another bottle of Doakes and Haig Recipe Sweetener was ready for market. If there was one.

"People's tastes have changed. They eat healthier meals ..."

"Healthier? Hah!" He jumped up on his chair and stretched to his full height. "Rabbits they be if rabbits they eat like. Look at me! I eat Doakes and Haig everyday! I'm as healthy as a horse!" He pounded his chest for emphasis.

"You're a leprechaun."

"What of it?"

I shook my head. We had had this discussion before. Years gone by, our concoction of lamb fat, some herbs and a touch of Haig's magic graced the tables of the rich and noble throughout the land. Now we would probably never get to market if Doakes and Haig Recipe Sweetener wasn't already recognized and honored as a purveyor to the crown. If the Health Office ever bothered to check ... "I'm sure we have enough," I said as I pointed to the shelves along the back. They were sagging from unsold bottles of our single product. "You can relax if you wish."

"That's the trouble with you, you are always ready to 'relax.'" But he did pause long enough to fill and light his pipe. Another health code violation to be sure. "When I agreed to work with your father, I could have never imagined the future would look like this."

I suppressed a smile at his choice of words. The story of how my great-great-great-and so on grandfather had captured the creature had been passed down and embellished by my family for generations. We had been dirt poor, so the latest version went, and forced to live in a cave while greatXgrandfather went out hunting and stealing and poaching. Luck of the Irish indeed when he stumbled upon Haig drunk and asleep on the moors. But not so lucky, either; for a leprechaun, Haig had a remarkably small pot of gold. Instead of wealth, then, it was work that Haig offered for his eventual freedom.