Ginger was six years old when she discovered that leprechauns did not live only in Ireland. At least, one of them didn't.

She found him on a warm spring morning behind the shed, where Ginger had gone looking for a marble she had lost the day before. She was down on her hands and knees, pushing aside weeds and peering beneath an old wooden board when she heard a tiny voice. "Would you mind?"

Ginger froze.

"You're blocking my door."

She sat back on her heels and looked around. There was nobody there. Then something moved beside her shoe.

A very small man stood beneath a clump of weeds, glaring up at her. He wasn't much taller than Ginger's hand. He wore brown trousers, a green vest with shiny brass buttons, and boots that looked as though they had walked a very long way. His reddish beard stuck out in several directions, and instead of the tall green hat Ginger expected, he wore a battered little brown cap pushed crookedly over one ear.

Ginger stared at him, and the little man stared back. "You're a leprechaun," Ginger finally said.

"Very observant."

"But we're in the desert."

"I'm aware of that."

"Don't leprechauns live in Ireland?"

"Most of them."

Ginger considered this. "What are you doing here?"

The leprechaun sighed. "At the moment, I'm waiting for you to move your knee."

Ginger looked down. Her knee was directly in front of a tiny green door built into the bottom of the shed. She scrambled backward. The leprechaun opened the door, disappeared inside, and slammed it behind him.

Ginger waited, but nothing happened. Finally, she knocked. The door opened a crack.

"What?"

"What's your name?"

The door closed again.

Ginger knocked once more. The door opened. "What?"

"I'm Ginger."

"I didn't ask."

The door slammed again, and Ginger smiled. She liked him already.

She stayed beside the shed until the little door finally opened again. The leprechaun stepped outside carrying a tiny shovel over one shoulder.

"Are you looking for gold?" Ginger asked.

"No."

"Do you have gold?"

"Possibly."

"Is it in a pot?"

The leprechaun stopped walking. "Do humans ask this many questions all the time?"

Ginger thought about it. "I do."

"I noticed."

His name, she eventually learned, was Finnegan. He had come to the desert many years before after climbing into a wooden crate on a ship and falling asleep. By the time he woke up, he was far from Ireland. After several more accidents involving a train, a wagon, and what he described only as "an unfortunate misunderstanding with a goat," he had ended up in the here, in the desert.

"And you stayed?" Ginger asked.

Finnegan looked toward the enormous blue sky. "Got used to it."

Ginger followed him across the yard. Finnegan wouldn't tell her where they were going, and whenever she asked, he said, "Somewhere you're not invited." But he never actually told her to stop following him.

They crossed the pasture and came to a dry arroyo. Finnegan climbed down the sandy bank and began digging beside a large rock.

Ginger's eyes widened. "You are looking for gold."

"I am not."

"Then what are you digging up?"

"None of your business."

That was when Ginger noticed something shining beneath the dirt. Finnegan quickly covered it with his boot.

"I saw that," Ginger said.

"Saw what?"

"Something gold."

"Sunlight."

"It's under your foot."

"Very talented sunlight."

Ginger folded her arms. Finnegan folded his. They stood that way for a long time until Finnegan finally groaned and moved his boot.

Buried beneath the sand was a tiny golden key.

"That's not treasure," Ginger said.

"Never said it was."

"What's it open?"

Finnegan picked up the key and tucked it into his vest. "Something."

"What?"

"Something locked."

Ginger frowned. "You don't make this easy."

"I'm a leprechaun. We're not supposed to."

Then he grinned. It was the first time Ginger had seen him smile, and immediately she knew he was about to do something troublesome.

Finnegan darted behind the rock, and Ginger hurried after him. He was gone.

She searched the arroyo. She looked beneath bushes, behind rocks, and even inside a rabbit hole until an irritated rabbit convinced her that Finnegan definitely wasn't there. Eventually, Ginger gave up and walked home.

When she reached the shed, she stopped.

Her missing marble sat on the ground beside the tiny green door. Next to it was something else.

A gold coin.

Ginger picked it up. It was smaller than a dime and strangely warm in her palm. The tiny door opened, and Finnegan poked his head out.

"I thought leprechauns weren't supposed to give away their gold," Ginger said.

"They aren't."

"Then why did you give me this?"

"I didn't."

"It was sitting right here."

"Careless of someone."

Ginger smiled. "Thank you."

Finnegan frowned fiercely. "For what?"

"The gold."

"What gold?"

"This gold."

"Never seen it before."

Ginger laughed, and Finnegan started closing his door.

"Finnegan?"

He stopped.

"Can I come back tomorrow?"

"No."

"The next day?"

"No."

"Next week?"

"No."

Ginger thought for a moment. "I'll see you tomorrow."

The little door slammed shut. Ginger slipped the tiny coin into her pocket and started toward the house.

Behind her, the door opened just enough for one small face to peek through.

"Ginger!"

She turned, and Finnegan tossed something toward her. Ginger caught it.

Her missing marble.

"I already found that," Ginger said.

Finnegan stared at the empty spot beside his door. Then he looked at Ginger. Then he looked at the marble in her hand.

"Oh, bother."

Ginger burst out laughing. Finnegan disappeared inside and slammed the door again.

The next morning, Ginger returned to the shed. The tiny green door was gone.

So was Finnegan.

She searched for both of them for years, but she never found them.

Ginger kept the little gold coin tucked safely in a wooden box beside her bed. Every once in a while, when the house was quiet and the windows were open, she thought she heard a very small voice somewhere outside complaining about humans who asked entirely too many questions.

Whenever she did, Ginger smiled.

Because she had a feeling Finnegan hadn't gone nearly as far away as he wanted her to believe.