Tea Party Gamboa, Consuelo Buy this Art Print at AllPosters.com

"All right, enough’s enough, where’s the lot of ya?" Maggie put her hands on her hips and peered 'round the kitchen. "Where are ya? I know you’re here."

A teeny-weeny man peeked his head up from the backside of the cup. His red hair lay in curls on tiny shoulders and he was blessed with the bluest of eyes. But his mustache appeared much too big for his wee face. " 'Tis me, back again."

"Patrick O’Day, so good to see the likes of ya again." Mrs. Flannigan chuckled. "But ya shouldn’t be trying to fool me. Now where’s the rest of ya hidin’? Where’s that lovely King of yers?"

Lolly O’Malley, the King of Killarney, skipped atop the toaster cover, then bowed to Mrs. Flannigan. "At yer service, Madam."

Maggie giggled.

Seconds later several faces peeked out from the broom straw. When music started from somewhere behind the refrigerator, more tiny folks appeared and started dancing a jig 'round Mrs. Flannigan’s right leg.

The wee creatures, no more than eight inches tall, with red hair, some curled, some straight, wore tiny green caps shaped like Robin Hood’s and shoes with pointed toes curled up in front.

"Oh, you little devils, make an old woman think she’s gone daft." Maggie clapped and laughed, then started her own version of the jig. At once wee folk scattered beyond the reach of her shoes.

"Careful ya don’t be killin’ us, Maggie Flannigan," Lolly said, wagging his finger at her in mock reproach.

"When did ya come in? Was it last night while I slept in me bed? I must admit better you than the banshee. And which one of ya messed with the cup me ma painted for me? I need to know cause I’m gonna skin ya alive."

"Ya know we’ll not be answering yer questions, my dear. 'Tis not our way." Patrick climbed on Maggie's lap, crawled up the bodice of her apron, then slid down her arms, laughin’ to beat the band.

Maggie joined in the laughter until her ample belly shook like a bowl of jelly. "Well since you decided to visit," she said between gaffaws, "you might as well stay for chocolate biscuits and a fine cup of tea. I’ve a story to tell ya."

"We love ya stories," another wee man said as he plopped into her lap. "Is it about ya first born?"

"No, 'tis not. It’s about that special cup of mine ya been playin’ with. We Irish, as ya well know, like our tea out of a fine china cup. It sets the mood, makes the tea taste better. Now, this here’s me favorite cup, 'cause it was given to me when I was a wee girl living in Ireland.

"I remember when Mum gave it to. 'Twas in 1890, on me tenth birthday.

" 'Now, Maggie Flannigan,’ me mum says, 'you take good care of this cup. It took me months to paint it for ya, and with all the chores I have to do 'round here, with no help from the likes of you to boot, I thought I’d never get it done.’

" 'Oh, Mum,’ I said to her, 'it’s beautiful, let’s see what you painted on it.’

"I want ya little buggers to look at the cup, but be very careful. I’ll skin the one who breaks it."

"We’ll be careful, we’ll treat it like our pot of gold."

"As ya can see, the cup is very thin with Shamrocks painted all 'round the top like green lace. The rest of the cup has the teeniest, tiniest pictures of wee people painted against the white background."

"Maggie, we all know about yer cup," Lolly said with a grin. "We were there for gosh-sake. Yer Mum, Mary Hennigan, painted it with her special dyes. I witnessed with me own eyes." Lolly’s little crown tipped back on his head.

"I’d forgotten that part of me story, but since you’re a little know it all, you tell it," Maggie said.

"I will, I will. Mary Hennigan made the browns from boiled eggshells, the reds from beet juice, the greens from Shamrocks soaked in Irish rains. She used clay to make the dandy siennas."

"You so right, King Lolly. I just wish she was still among the living and could see how much I appreciate all that she done for me. Oh, I’ve been gone from Ireland too long, but if you were there, then you know what else she said the day she gave me the cup."

"She said, 'Maggie, you’ve a true kinship with the wee people. Look after 'em and they’ll look after you.’ " Patrick winked at Maggie.

"Truer words never left me Mum's lips, for I love all of ya." Maggie sighed. "But why am I so melancholy this day?"

"You’ve not had yer tea and we neither. That’s what wrong with ya." Patrick stroked Maggie’s finger.

"Maybe so," Maggie said. "We’ll have it now and chocolate biscuits, or have ya put me biscuits in the trees?" Maggie prepared to stand, and the wee people scurried out of her lap.

"How’d ya know what we done with ya biscuits, Missy? Are ya above sharin’ a crumb or two with God's true singers?" Lolly grinned. "Don’t go gettin’ fresh with me, ya little tike. I share with the birds like I say me prayers, and while I’m about it, you’ll address me as 'Maggie’, if ya please."

"And am I, the King of Killarney, to be addressed as Little Tike?" Lolly said.

Maggie grinned. "Come give us a kiss, and stop this nonsense." She bent down to the wee king.

He reached for her wrinkled hand and, ever so lightly, kissed it.

In the corner of the kitchen stood an emerald green child’s china cabinet. Behind the glass doors, on the bottom shelf, sat twelve cups no bigger than thimbles and saucers the size of quarters. Beside the cabinet was a small table and chairs made from old maple.

"Here, put on this fine white cloth," Maggie said to Patrick as she handed him a handkerchief. "I’m getting old, I can’t wait on ya like I used to."

Maggie set out the tea and biscuit crumbs then lowered herself into her chair. The King and all the other wee folks seated themselves.

"Oh, 'tis grand. I’ve been weepy off and on this whole day and just look at ya, come to make an old woman happy, have ya?"

"Well Maggie, we’ve been keepin’ an eye on ya since mornin’ and watchin’ those big brown eyes of yers starin’ off to God knows where."

"Ya been watchin’ me, have ya? Is it not bad enough me own children have taken to worryin’ 'bout me, tellin’ me to wear a sweater, make sure the stove’s off, and the like? Now I’m to have twelve pairs of wee eyes on me each and every move?"

"Now, Maggie, don’t go getting’ yer Irish up, we can’t stand seein’ those eyes of yers lookin’ so sad. We do know where ya go ta in that sweet head of yours, but we’re afraid if ya keep it up, ya won’t be comin’ back to us one day," Lolly said, softly.

"Oh, blarney, I been feelin’ weepy. I’m Irish, ya know. Am I not entitled to a little melancholy once in a blue moon? Anyway, are we goin’ ta have a lovely cup of tea or not?" Maggie frowned.

"Does a donkey’s tail cover the crack of his arse?" Patrick said.

With that, everyone, Maggie included, laughed.

After all had their fill of tea and biscuits, Lolly said, "We're on a mission to make our dear, sweet Maggie a happy woman.

"Oh my," Maggie said, wide-eyed.

"Close yer eyes and count to ten. And no peekin’ 'til I say."

Maggie closed her eyes and counted. When she opened them, she gasped.

"Saints preserve us," she cried. "Would ya look at that. Why it's the most delicious looking cake I've ever seen. The whipped cream looks like miniature mountains, for pity sake." Atop the cake, sixty-three candles glowed.

"Are ya not afraid those candles will set this lovely cake afire? And where did ya find strawberries as big as plums?

"Tisk, tisk, Maggie. Don’tcha remember nothing? We can’na answer yer questions." Patrick danced around the cake.

"Maggie Flannigan," Lolly said, "did ya not know 'tis yer birthday?"

"Dear heavens, I did not. How can I ever thank you?" Maggie wiped tears from her cheeks.

" 'Tis us who should be thanking ya, Maggie. Yer Mum would be so proud to see how well ya’ve taken care of yer teacup and us all these long years.

More tears ran down Maggie’s face.

"Stop cryin’, Girl. 'Tis yer birthday and the party’s only just begun."

They sang Happy Birthday to her in Gaelic, and then the room filled with the sound of Irish thunder as twelve little feet began Irish step dancing across Maggie's table.