Quest for Clover J. M. Strother “Well that's just stupid!” Arnie sneered. “Humph.” Becky ignored the insult and continued her search. “Nobody believes that stuff. What are you, a kindergartner?” They were both, in fact, in third grade. “I guess you believe in Santa Claus too?” “I do not!” Becky stood and planted her fists firmly on her hips. Arnie backed off a little, well aware of the fury of a woman scorned. Becky had beat the tar out of him more than once when he had taunted her too much. “Well it's the same thing, Becky. There aren't any such things as leprechauns.” “You don't know that,” Becky countered, returning to her knees. She continued to comb methodically through the patch of clover in search for that one lucky shamrock with four leaves. She had just seen Darby O'Gill and the Little People on cable TV the night before and had become fascinated with the notion of leprechauns living under fairy mounds. And while the thought of being forced to stay with the little people forever had terrified poor old Darby, she thought it a grand idea. In fact, there was nothing she would rather do. But, she knew, you had to really believe if you wanted to actually find one. “Hey, I got an idea,” Arnie persisted, trying to distract Becky from this useless (and boring) task. “Let's ride our bikes over to Rocket Park.” He knew Becky loved the rocket slide better than just about anything, and figured that would get her for sure. “Nah.” Becky didn't even look up. “There's lots of clover in the soccer field,” Arnie coaxed. She looked up at that. But the soccer field was flat as a pancake. The hill behind her house was just the right size and shape for a fairy mound. She shook her head, no, and continued her quest. “Oh, come on, Becky. There aren't no such things as leprechauns. This is just D-U-M, dumb.” Spelling was not Arnie's forte. “It's D-U-M-B, dummy,” Becky shot back. “Who's the dummy?” Now Arnie was getting a little angry on his own part. He hated it when Becky corrected him. “You gotta be a real dummy to be crawling around on your hands and knees looking for a stupid four-leaf clover to try and catch a stupid leprechaun! Think he'll show you the Easter Bunny?” “Oh, just go away,” Becky urged. She continued to search and Arnie became very quiet. After a while she thought that perhaps he had indeed gone away. She glanced over her shoulder to look, and saw that he had retreated only to the edge of the back yards, where he busied himself with his bike. But he kept shooting a glance her way every now and then, apparently as yet unwilling to abandon hope. Before long Arnie was back, this time on his bike. He laughed and sneered as he rode in broad circles around her, peddling hard on the up slope, and racing by on the way down. At first she just ignored him, so he began swooping by ever closer until at last he was running right through her clover patch, crushing innumerable leaves in his wake. “Arnie Murphy you better get out of here!” Becky shouted jumping up to ward off his destructive runs. Twice he flew down towards her, only to veer off before he collided with her. But on the third pass he refused to give way and Becky had to jump at the last second to avoid being hit. She lashed out as he passed by and caught him on the shoulder. He lost control, and boy and bike landed in a heap in the middle of Becky's precious patch. Arnie pulled himself up, struggling to maintain his composure. His leg hurt, but he wasn't about to cry, not in front of Becky. Man, she'd pay! He began to ball his fist, steeling himself for a fight, when Becky's face lit up and she dashed right past him to drop to her knees next to his bike. “A four-leaf clover!” she cried out in elation. There, right next to the bike pedal was a four-leaf clover. She picked it and held it up to gaze upon in wonder and delight. Then, in an instant it was snatched from her hand. She rose and whirled, but Arnie danced away from her, hopping up and down, yelling, “Where's your stupid leprechaun, Becky? Huh, huh, huh? Where's your stupid leprechaun?” “Give it back to me, Arnie Murphy! Give it back!” Then, to her dismay, Arnie ripped the shamrock to pieces, one petal at a time. In a raging scream Becky flew at him and they fell to the ground in a tussle. Arnie managed to extricate himself and grabbed his bike. This he used as a barrier between them until Becky suddenly stopped, collapsed to the ground, and began to cry. “Aw, Becky, it was just a stupid shamrock,” Arnie wheedled . “And it didn't bring no stupid leprechaun.” But Becky would not be consoled. Finally, feeling guilty, Arnie mounted his bike, turned it downslope, and headed home. “Well, now Rebbecca.” She heard a voice from behind. It was heavily accented, just like in Darby O'Gill! “I thought the wee lad would never be going.” Slowly, Becky turned around. She couldn't believe her eyes!