Phineas was beside himself. He had looked everywhere he could think of. Every corner of his little shop, the cupboards, under his bench, on all the shelves and bins with no success.

Outside, he scoured the yard and under the toadstools in the shady corner of the garden . . . nothing.

Back at his bench, Phineas lit his pipe and sighed. What was he to do? He stared at the solitary shoe on the last in front of him and imagined what the Lord Mayor would say when he discovered one of his favourite buckled shoes had vanished.

Nothing would do but to make a new shoe. It would not be easy to do nor would it be easy to fool the mayor. How would he match the fit after years of wear and how would he treat the material so as to appear like its mate?

Phineas drew on his pipe and closed his eyes to think.

"Hello? Mr. Finnegan?" The voice called from the door of the little shop.

"Howya."

"Hi, I wonder if I can get this shoe sole mended." A young man came up to the workbench, smiling and holding out a very old, worn boot.

Phineas looked at the boot with little interest. "'Tis banjaxed. I'll not dodder with it. Get a new pair."

"Oh please, can't you repair it. I love these boots and they have served me well. I'll pay well."

"I'm not needin' your big promises. I'm too busy anyway."

"Won't you reconsider? I'll do anything you want, if you will fix it . . . oh . . ."

Phineas swung around on his stool to see the young man staring at the shoe on the last.

"What is it?"

"That- that shoe; it's the mayor's!"

"Ay, and how would you know that?"

"My work is in the office of the mayor."

The pipe slipped from Phineas' mouth and he studied the man with greater interest.

"You are right in his office?"

"I am. I'm an aide."

Phineas studied the worn boot. "And you would do anything I want to have your boot repaired?"

"Well . . . I-"

"Do you want our boot repaired or not?"

"Uh- yes. Yes I do."

"Then I have a request and for this request not only will I mend your boot, I will grant you one wish."

The young man's eye lit up. A wish from a Leprechaun was known to be true and anything he wanted would be granted! Without hesitation, he agreed.

"Very good," Phineas smiled. "I need a cast of the mayor's left foot."

The young man gaped. "How on earth can I get that?"

"I would think a wish for anything you could have would be incentive enough." Phineas handed him the boot.

"No! No- I'll do it. I'll get a cast of his left foot."

***********

Two weeks passed and the young man hurried into the leprechaun's shop with a wrapped box under his arm.

"I have it! I have the cast." His excitement s tangible.

Phineas open the wrapping and looked in the box. Sure enough there was a casting of the mayor's left foot. Immediately he set to work on making the new shoe.

"Excuse me. We had an arrangement, Mr. Finnegan," the young man spoke anxiously. "I had to leave my employment as punishment for getting this. I want my wish."

"I know, but this must be finished first. If you come back in two days I will have your repaired boot and you can make your wish."

Reluctantly the young man agreed and left. Two days later he was back, demanding his wish.

"Here is your boot, a fine job if I do say."

The young man took the boot and looked at it but his eagerness for the wish was too strong to give it much merit.

"My wish"

Phineas sighed and lit his pipe. "Very well, what is it you wish?"

"I want the treasure of gold everyone knows you have hidden." He jigged from one foot to the other.

"You want . . . ."

"Yes! Yes that's what I want."

"Look inside your boot."

Surprised, the young man peered into his boot and reached in for the piece of paper. It must be a map, he thought and flattened it out on the table behind him.

When he read the words, his face screwed up in confused anger, eyes pinched shut. It read:

You were granted a wish and instead you asked for a want, so the reward you will receive is the repair of your boot for no charge.

He spun around ready to argue but the shop was empty. There was no leprechaun. No workbench. No casting of the mayor's foot. Nothing.

***********

Phineas sat beneath his favourite toadstool, puffing on his pipe and humming as he hefted the little pouch of gold the mayor paid for his shoes.