By the time Frodo and Sam reached Bag End, rain was falling hard and the wind was blowing pretty hard. Despite how nasty it was outside, Sam hurried on home down Bagshot Row after he had made sure Frodo was safe and sound at Bag End.

Time he was in the door, Primula took the basket from his arm, and gave him instruections to go change his wet clothes. Frodo went to do as his mother told him, forgetting about the ruined books and papers that were still tucked inside the basket.

When Frodo entered the kitchen a few moments later, Primula had set the book and parchment on the table. Frodo’s heart sank as he caught sight of them, even as his mother asked him about them. Frodo knew better than to lie about them, and he told her they were Bilbo’s and that he had taken them without permission. Without another word, Primula had led Frodo down the hallway to the door of Bilbo’s study.

Primula crossed her arms, nodding towards the door to Bilbo’s study, saying ‘Go on.’

Swallowing hard, and gathering up his frail courage, Frodo clutched the damaged book to his chest before knocking on the doorframe. Bilbo quickly granted him permission to enter, and slowly Frodo made his way in, and over to Bilbo’s desk. The older hobbit looked up as Frodo halted beside his chair, and putting down his quill, he smiled at his nephew.

His smile vanished when he saw the look on the other’s face, ‘Frodo-lad, why whatever is the matter?’

Frodo held out the book towards him, ‘I’ve ruined your book, uncle. I’m sorry.’

Bilbo took the volume, about to tell the lad not to make such a fuss over it when his eyes met the Elvish script on the book’s cover. Without a word he opened the cover, discovering the ruined parchments inside and moments passed as Bilbo examined them as well as the book. Finally he laid them aside, and turned his chair so he could face his nephew.

Bilbo sighed, ‘Is this one the books I asked you not to take from my study?’

Frodo muttered, ‘Yes, uncle.’

‘Why did you take it then?’ he asked, and Frodo was silent. ‘Well, are you going to answer me, lad?’

‘I wanted to read the book.’

Bilbo gave him a dubious look, ‘This book was written in Elvish, a language I was unaware you read.’

‘Um...’

‘Do you want to try the truth, Frodo?’ Bilbo asked.

Frodo answered, ‘If I tell you, I will be breaking a promise I made to someone.’

‘A promise? To whom?’ Bilbo asked, and then added at Frodo’s reluctance, ‘I won’t tell anyone whatever it is but I would like an explanation for the book.’

Frodo sighed, ‘I’ve been teaching Sam how to read and write.’

‘What?’

‘It’s true, uncle. One day while we were exploring together Sam told me he had never learned how to read or write.’

‘I see,’ Bilbo said, ‘Frodo, I think it is a fine thing for you to teach Sam, but why do it in secret?’

‘Because he’s afraid his parents won’t approve of him learning his letters,’ Frodo replied.

Bilbo thought for a moment about the kind of reaction they might have. He was sure Bell Gamgee would be thrilled at the thought her son learning how to do something she was never able to learn herself. Hamfast on the other hand he wasn’t so sure about as he was the type of hobbit to consider whatever activities that did help him to get the gardening done to be a waste of time. He was a fine gardener all right but just persuading him to let Sam have a few hours off every afternoon to be with Frodo had not been an easy task. Perhaps both Frodo and Sam had shown wisdom in keeping the reading lessons a secret but that did not however excuse Frodo’s taking the book from his study.

Bilbo sighed, ‘Frodo, I normally would not approve of a lad keeping secrets from his parents,’ He gave Frodo a meaningful look, ‘But in Sam’s case. I believe you were right to do so as his father. As while Hamfast Gamgee is the best gardener in all the Shire, he is also likely inclined to think of book-learning as a waste of time when there’s other work to be done.’

He noted a somewhat relieved look passed on Frodo’s face, ‘However, Frodo-lad, I am still disappointed in you.’ He picked up a piece of the ruined parchment, ‘This was to be your birthday present. I’ve worked on these translations since our birthday last year because I know how much you like Elvish poetry.’ He watched Frodo’s face fall, ‘But these aren’t good for anything but to feed the fire now.’ To emphasis his point Bilbo rose from his chair, and threw the now wrinkled, dry parchments into the fireplace, the flames licked and then consumed the offering.

He waited until the pages had curled into ashes before he turned again to Frodo, ‘Now about the book - since an explaination for Lord Elrond shall have to be written, I think it is only fair that you be the one to write the letter.’

‘Me?’ Frodo said. ‘But, uncle, I don’t know how to write in Elvish!’

‘That’s quite all right, because Lord Elrond can read Westron,’ Bilbo replied. ‘I shall expect your letter soon so I can put it in with the next batch of letters I will be sending to Rivendell.’

‘All right, uncle, I’ll-’

A knock came at the door, and both turned to see Drogo standing there with a rather severe look on his face, ‘Uncle, if you’rfe finished with Frodo I want to speak to him.’

Bilbo nodded, ‘Of course.’ Frodo started out the door, ‘Remember what I want you to do, lad.’

‘Yes, uncle.’

Drogo started to follow his son out the door when Bilbo called him back. He told Frodo to go to his room, that he’d be along shortly before he turned to see what the other wanted.

Bilbo waited until he was sure Frodo was down the hallway before he spoke, ‘I assume Primula told you what happened?’

‘Aye, she did.’

‘Are you going to punish Frodo further?’

‘Aye, Frodo knows to listen to and to obey his elders. I know you asked him not to take the book from your study,’ Drogo answered.

Bilbo sighed, ‘Are you going to spank him?’ When he nodded he said, ‘Oh, Drogo, is that really necessary?’

‘He should know there are consequences for his actions,’ Drogo replied.

Bilbo hated the thought of Frodo being caused pain but he knew from his own childhood experience that few things got his attention or emphasized a point as when his father had swatted his backside every now and again.