flushed and ran. With some difficulty I pursued it, suddenly realizing it was a little old man! It was with the greatest of difficulty that I was able to maintain my cool, scientific detachment as I realized that I was close to the possibility of realizing the researcher's dream, the objectivication of certain data previously thought to be spurious. Just at the edge of the wood, the figure stumbled and I was able to get a firm grasp on its arm. It spoke in a pathetic voice, pleading to be released (first in Gaelic, then, recognizing my weakness in that tongue, in English), and it would have had to be a cruel man indeed (or one who knew of the pot of gold) to have resisted such a piteous request. Notwithstanding, I firmly drew him toward the meadow, intent on getting a clear picture of this amazing discovery. The creature's pleadings grew most intense at this point, and for a moment, he seemed to change into some sort of snake-like creature (an obvious impossibility in Ireland), but before it was able to do anything else, I had brought it out into broad sunlight. The explanation for his terrible need to be released into the shadows and not be publicly viewed became horrendously clear. So shocking was my realization of this phenomenon that my hands became paralyzed, and I could not hold my captive. With a cry of gratified relief, it fled to the shadows of the woods while I sank to the grass in stupefaction.

"It has been only after full consideration of the tremendous impact that release of this information will have on the peoples of this fascinating culture, of the devastating effect it will have on their sympathizers in this country and others where their descendants have gone, that I decided that in the interests of science and true knowledge the facts must be known. It is therefore with terribly mixed emotions and deepest sympathy for those who must be hurt that I make this information public: The leprechaun, for such it must have been, was, from head to toe, including his hair, a brilliant shade of orange!"

A pall of silence hung over the room when Professor Corscadden had finished speaking. With bowed head, the tragic figure slowly replaced the document into the folder, then wiped at the tears on his cheek. The group, themselves moist-eyed, looked sympathetically at the professor, then quickly averted their eyes to avoid staring at the unsightly blotch on his right hand, an orange blotch with an uncanny resemblance to a shamrock.

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