By the time the two make it back home, the darkness of night completely blankets the land. Grandfather is straining from carrying Lanker, but he doesn't want to admit it. Lanker pleads with him to let him crawl along, but Grandpa insists on continuing to carry him in his arms.
For several more days Lanker and grandfather will make this trip back into the dark woods behind Aunt Molly's cabin. At times they will travel into different tracts, along other creeks, but always leaving without finding a single Leprechaun, or even any sign of one.
At long last, one day Lanker asks grandfather if he will show him how to catch the many squirrels scampering about. Grandpa shows him how to twist copper wire snares from castaway electrical cord, tie them onto nine-foot poles, and set them up for squirrels along the tree trunks most attractive to them. In time Lanker appears to have completely forgotten all about Leprechauns.
In the passing of a few more days, Lanker begins staying more around home. Seemingly he has forgotten about any Leprechaun, and his great quest for them. One night around the twelfth striking, he crawls into the closet inside his bedroom. He raps three times on the door of the mouse, who soon steps outside.
"I could tell by the knocking who was at my door," the mouse announces to Lanker.
"Well, what has the company found?" asks Lanker.
"Nothing."
"Nothing at all, you mean?" asks Lanker again.
"No, not anything, nata..., not a dong doodlin' damn thing!" replies the mouse, "as of yet. We are searching in this case, however, and if the subject really exists, we shall surely find it."
"Well, I certainly hope so, 'cause I am doing my own search to compliment yours."
"Been successful yet?" asks the mouse.
"Mite near as successful as you, and your company," replies Lanker.
"So, then, we both shall keep on a tryin'," returns the mouse, with a narrow-eyed look directed toward Lanker.
"There is no other way," snaps Lanker.
"So, make yourself small and do some searching around in this old house with us, and the family," requests Robert, the mouse.
Lanker speaks the magic words, reducing his size into that of the mouse again. He proceeds to follow the mice family all through the walls of the house. He can hear his grandmother snoring, crystal clear as if she were right there inside the room with him. He can hear her prayers in the darkness of midnight, when she asks the Lord to bless little Lanker, and all of the other grandchildren.
He can hear the voice of his mother speaking about past events in Richmond, with her questioning her own sanity in regard to Hayam. He can hear the sigh of his own father, and the words he speaks when he says;
"In all honesty, Lindza, I simply do not know what to think about any of this business that you are always talking about. I never saw any indications of that in him, myself."
"But that look in his eye? The way that he insisted on you being gone for so long. None of that made any sort of impression on you, ever?" his mother argues.
"Not on me," replies his father. "Like I said before, I simply don't know how to fathom all of this monkey business here. I refuse to be accused of venturing out on a limb, while bearing some sort of assumption. While I don't want you to feel as if I am doubting what you are saying to me; all of it really places me into a tight spot, to tell the honest truth."
"I'm glad poor little Lanker is not old enough to pick up on any of this. He would only carry those thoughts around in his mind for years, making a negative out of his experience in the passage of time; that could have, and should have been a hard positive, if the truth of it was to be known," sighs the concerned voice of his mother.
"Awe, Lanker was in his own room. How could he have ever known?" clearly growls the voice of his father.
"Well now, Hendrick, I'll tell you right now that children can pick up on these sorts of things."
"Yeah? Well while that may be true, will he even understand what his ears perceive? If he does, then how will he process all of it?"
"That is the million-dollar question in situations such as this. How will his mind process what his eyes and ears perceive? What if he comes out as being some sort of psychopath?" asks his mother.
"That will never happen," quickly returns his father.
"Only time will tell, I say. Only a passing of time will tell. In the meantime, all that we can do as parents, is to pray."
The three weeks quickly pass, with visits to the mouse, hikes into the woods, and the like. Before Lanker knows what was happening, he is taking a long journey down the narrow highways and byways of the time period, to a fancy park-like place, with a big building called Baron Duke's Medical Hospital. His mother and father are carrying him down the hallway of this building, into a cold damp room, where they wait patiently for a doctor.
The doctor soon arrives carrying two or three round bladed saws. Lanker perceives these saws as cutting into his flesh, when they actually didn't. As the two casts on his legs come apart, his feet and legs suddenly wreak with pain. Their coloring is that of an unnatural blue. The doctor assures them all this experience is perfectly natural for those in Lanker's situation.
Lanker makes it out of the hospital in fair shape, and soon the family is back at the home of his grandparents, as if this experience was only a horrible dream. When they cross the threshold of the cottage home, his grandfather races inside with him in his arms, until he makes it to the bedside. He places Lanker into the center of the bed, then instructs him to stand up. When Lanker attempts to stand up, still the pain is so intense he cannot hold himself up for long, and he collapses back upon the bed.
"Will I ever stand up?" asks Lanker to all of those surrounding him, with tears pouring down his face.
"You must keep on practicing, boy, keep on trying," says his grandfather.
"Come on now, you can do it, boy," coaches his grandmother.
As he stands up in the center of the soft feather bed, he dearly hopes his ankles and feet would no longer hurt. He gazes down upon them. They both still appear blue in a way suggesting potential pain beyond his point of tolerance. As he rises to bear his weight upon them, the pain strikes without warning, causing him to scream, as both ankles feel themselves pulling apart on the inside. He collapses back down upon the bed into a heap of flesh, muscle, and battered aching bone. What can he do now but only lay there, and cry aloud? His Grandfather grabs both ankles, while his mother commences pulling upward upon his body.
"You need to fight this thing, boy, with all that you have. It will hurt, but you will need to build a tolerance if you are ever going to walk at all. Your injured bones and joints are going to adjust to supporting your weight over the course of time," the firm voice of his grandfather coaches.
Lanker continues screaming, as his legs tremble with pain beneath him. Somehow through it all, this second time around, his legs actually manage to support his weight, even though they heave and buckle from time to time.
"You can do this!" his Grandparents coach, as he screams with every ounce of air locked up in his breast.
Soon a minute passes that feels like an hour, as he stands. Then five minutes pass that might as well constitute an entire day, far as Lanker is concerned. Every person present begins clapping and cheering him for his success. Before he collapses back down upon the bed ten whole minutes pass, constituting a whole year in pain time to the child.
Somehow in the passage of time, the pain actually feels as if it commences to subside. Maybe this sensation is only an illusion, all in his mind, since he learned he can effectively block sensations of pain simply by thinking about doing so, when no other method of doing so existed. His mother breaks out into streaming tears as she witnesses this rather desperate struggle in her dear child, with his bodily deformities. At least with the onset of this magnificent moment, there was actually some measure of accomplishment in the direction of her son being successful at walking.
In another week Lanker is compelled to visit the foot surgeon, Doctor Roldoge', again. The doctor carefully examines the feet of the child, who is now a five-year-old boy gazing upward with hard eyes, to offer his own prognosis for the young boy's future.
"I'll just be out with it at this moment," the old doctor rumbles. "I want him to have another surgery. This time I will drop the casts down below his knees, and place rubber stoppers on the bottoms, since he is trying so hard to walk, as we speak. By doing so, the muscles and tendons shall still develop, while adjusting to the shock dealt out upon them in daily living."
The mother explodes into a deluge of tears upon receiving this announcement from the doctor.
"How soon do you want him to go under, doc?"
"In another three weeks. I am sorry, but his feet are still undeveloped, as far as normality goes. We can make far more adjustments during this second surgery. We should see a marked difference. The pins with the wires shall be removed. He shall have rubber stoppers on the bottoms of his feet. Progress then, should be forthcoming."
The mother continued to weep. News of more surgery was nearly more than her poor heart could bear at the time. She is well aware, however, that neither she nor her son have any alternative choice but to endure this harrowing experience. While he can avoid going back under the surgeon's knife, his only alternative option is for him to remain at home, destined to become a cripple later in time.
During the remaining three weeks, Lanker continues walking, to his best ability. He frequently makes his way back to the mouse hole, shrinking himself down to size, then crawling up to an elegant dollhouse door craftily fitted into the hole. Wall studs were seized from a doll house somewhere, then used to frame over the chewed-out hole where the mice merrily lived. The door was carefully fitted into this neatly constructed framework.
When Lanker reduces himself down into proper size, the doors on the mouse hole appear in likeness to those on a real king's castle; being constructed of heavy solid oak, with a wicked looking brass cat's face positioned in the center, and a heavy bronze ring in his mouth. He walks up to the double doors, lifts the left-hand ring, then slams this thick ring solidly upon the brass anvil three times, with three seconds intervals in between these slamming sessions. Soon a bearded mouse wearing a doll house butler's uniform, opens the door slightly.
"Hello now. Is Robert home?" asks Lanker.
The door slams before he can lay his hand upon the heavy bronze handle. A few metal rattlings are heard, then a small window opens in the center of the door, where Lanker can only view the butler mouse's face.
"Yes, may I, only a simple mouse, be of any assistance to a soul such as yourself?" asks the mouse butler.
"Yes, oh..er a.., sure. I was only searching for Robert."
"Robert who?" the butler mouse inquires.
"Robert Lovedandrich."
The butler mouse commences to laugh hysterically.
"Robert who, now? Did you say Lovedandrich?"
The butler mouse continues to laugh.
"Yes, his family owns the company Search & Find."
Upon hearing these words, the butler mouse abruptly ceases in his laughter. A serious hard look and demeanor soon overcomes his countenance.
"Very well sir. Who may I say is seeking him?"
"Tell him Lanker Doo-lezz is calling."
The now serious butler mouse turned, yelling aloud.
"Call to Robert Lovedandrich, from Lanker Doo-lezz!"
In a moment the small window in the center, slams shut. Then the entire door opens, and out steps Robert.
"Well, I'll be darned! I'm so glad it is you standing out here. I'm so happy to see you, Lanker ole boy!" he declares in a cheer filled greeting.
"Has your company yet discovered the hiding place for my pot of gold?"
"No, but we've hit the jackpot for sure! True success sure feels splendid, don't ya think? Take a look at all of us here now. We have a king's door covering our old homemade one. We all have on brand spanking new duds, of the most elegant kind. We eat only the best of foods, served right off a king's platter, all prepared by a king's cook. Our family and our entire clan at large, are planning a thirty-day vacation to the wonderful Vanderbilt community here, inside of four weeks. Doesn't this news make you so happy, Lanker?"
"Why yes, sure, but what about my gold there, big boy?"
"Well, the gold-? Oh, yes, yes. Why yes, the gold!" he clears his throat. "Your pot of gold, um, it's a work in progress, I shall say. In the meantime, let's check out our latest new family car!"
Robert races past the door, and suddenly to the right. Seemingly from nowhere sits an immaculate Rolls Royce Phantom I Jonckheere Coupe. There can be no doubt about it, without question the car is built for an angel. Yet for some strange reason, Lanker feels was driven away from the same doll house where everything else obviously originated. Since Lanker cannot read, and doesn't know cars, he can only ask.
"What kind is it?"
Robert tells him.
"Where did it come from?"
"Well, the nearest car lot, of course," Robert cheerfully replies.
"Ok, but I just don't know. The car seems really nice," the small boy says. "I only want you to find my pot of gold for me," Lanker hangs his head as the mouse replies.
"Oh my, oh., well, just cheer up now my boy! You'll have it, I say. The reputation of our family enterprise totally depends on us being able to make sound delivery consistently!" Robert curtly informs him.