Good morrow again, Vern, 

 VH> T'other one give him a look and says, "Nooo.  I t'ink if yez were to
 VH> give him a poosh, he'd nearly start!" :-)


Grandpappy Seamus was a troubled fella on his deathbed, for 
despite having guarded the gate at the local factory in Dublin for 
33 years and sorted most problems and petty thefts, there was one 
old adversary he'd never caught out.

Every night,  he'd stopped the wee jockey-sized Patrick at the 
factory gate, convinced the sly-looking lad was stealing the 
company blind.  He'd searched the greasy cloth cap, and the 
patched jacket;  he'd patted the grimy shirt and trousers this way 
and that;  he'd had Patrick's boots off and probed the soaking 
socks;  and he'd gone all over the lad's wheelbarrow and the 
toolbag and lunch tin in it a thousand times.

And never did he find one little thing out of place.

"T'ank you, y`Onor", Patrick would smile slyly, nodding as he 
touched his cap before stepping off home, leaving Seamus worried 
and puzzled, certain sure he was being conned again.

The matter had haunted him for many long years since.

And now he sent the family to ask Patrick to visit him,  and he 
talked to Patrick when he came, an aged leprechaun now, still with 
a sly twinkle.

"All those years, Patrick, and never once was there so much as a 
pencil or a screwdriver or a lump of coal," Seamus croaked.

"True, Seamus, Sorr ... and not for the want of yer looking"

"So, ease my mind so I can face the Pearly Gates properly, 
Patrick", pleaded the prostrate Seamus, "Were you on the make ?"

"Well, Sorr, in a manner of speaking, I may have been..."

"And what was it you were a'thieving, man ?"

"Wheelbarrows, y'Onor..."

:-O


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