14. What Could Possibly Happen?

“Mr. Frodo! Mr. Frodo, where are you?”

Sam hurried past the parlor, and then stopped short and turned around as he spotted Frodo inside, on the rug, playing checks again with Hazel. His master looked up with a smile, setting down the piece of paper that he’d been scribbling on, as he came in. “Hullo, Sam,” he said cheerfully. “A bit early to be hurrying so, isn’t it? Something wrong?”

Sam grinned and shook his head, causing light brown curls to fall over his eyes. He impatiently blew them out of the way, and leaned against the doorframe. “No, no, sir,” he said, “nothin’s wrong. I just wanted to ask you summat—I should’ve known you’d be playin’ with Hazel again.”

Frodo chuckled and moved his check, black this time. “I shan’t let him best me so easily,” he said firmly. “I’m determined to keep playing until I beat him—surely it’s not possible for someone to win every time!”

Sam stifled a laugh as Hazel, grinning, hopped his red check over Frodo’s and dropped the older player’s into his pile. Frodo groaned and shook his head. “All right,” he said with a sigh, “I take it back. It is possible for someone to win every time.”

Hazel snickered and Frodo crunched his piece of paper into a ball, and threw it at his head. “Did you say you had something to ask me, Sam?” he asked, laughing as his paper-ball hit Hazel squarely on the nose.

“Well, Mr. Frodo,” Sam started, “Halfred needs to go to town again today, an’ he needs me to come with him. After that, me an’ him were goin’ to go drop off a few things at the east side o’ town, where they’re buildin’ a bridge over the Jolly Brook, and maybe help them a bit. But Jessimine has to go with Fennel to a friend’s home for a quilting bee, or some such.” Sam paused and then went on in a rush, “And, well, me an’ Halfred was wonderin’ if you wouldn’t mind stayin’ here with Jessimine and Fennel and Hazel, and little Tansy, while we were off at town, seein’ as how we’ll be gone all day, most like. They’ve got a pony-trap in the barn if you wouldn’t mind drivin’ the lasses to the quilting bee. Halfred and me ’ll collect them on our way home.”

Frodo smiled. “Of course I wouldn’t mind,” he said, sitting up. “Hazel wanted to show me the pond where Jolly Brook starts—no doubt so that he can best me at frog-catching. And I’ve been wanting to go on a drive or a walk to see the countryside around here, anyhow.”

Sam looked relieved. “Thank'ee, Mr. Frodo!” he said with a smile. “If you don’t mind, Halfred’s waitin’ outside, so I’d best be off. See you this evening!”

“Have a good time, Sam,” Frodo called after him.

Sam’s voice could be heard from down the hall, replying, “Same t' you, Mr. Frodo!”

Hazel suddenly tugged on Frodo’s sleeve to get his attention. “I believe I’ve just won,” he said with a mischievous grin. Frodo looked down at the check-board with dismay and groaned. Hazel burst out laughing.

***

Later that afternoon, Frodo (with the knowledgeable Hazel’s help) hitched up Galad—as Halfred had taken Gil—to the pony-trap and they drove down the dirt road, following Jessimine’s directions. She sat with Tansy on her lap; her wide-brimmed hat tied with a large blue ribbon beneath her chin shading her face from the bright summer sun. Fennel had a similar hat, while Tansy just had a small, periwinkle-colored bonnet.

Hazel sat beside Frodo, excitedly telling him about his many “adventures” (as he called them) he had with his friend, Robin Tunnelly. He considered himself quite well traveled—by hobbit standards—and took pride in his knowledge of locations such as Brandy Hall or the Great Smials in Tuckborough, which to him were as far as the east is from the west.

As they reached the north part of the town of Fairglade, the rolling hills gave way to flat, green moors. Here, there was no place to build a sensible hobbit-hole; the inhabitants of the north moors lived in two-story brick houses, for the most part.

“Fancy climbing upstairs to bed!” said Jessimine, shaking her head, as they passed one such residence. “That seems to me most inconvenient. Hobbits aren’t birds.”

“I don’t know,” said Frodo thoughtfully. He tipped up the brim of his round, flat-topped straw hat to wipe his brow—the sun was brightly shining and it was getting rather hot. “It isn’t as bad as it sounds; though personally I never like looking out of upstairs windows, it makes me a bit giddy. There are some houses that have three stages, bedrooms above bedrooms. I slept in one once—years ago, while I was in Frogmorton with Bilbo on a holiday; the wind kept me awake all night.”

“What a nuisance, if you want a handkerchief or something when you're downstairs, and find it's upstairs,” said Hazel, peering over the side of the pony-trap to get a better view of the nearest house.

“You could keep handkerchiefs downstairs, if you wanted to,” suggested Fennel primly, playing with Goldilocks.

“You could, but I don’t think anybody does.”

“That is not the houses’ fault,” said Frodo laughing; “it is just the silliness of the hobbits that live in them. The old tales tell that the Elves used to build tall towers; and only went up their long stairs when they wished to sing or look out of the windows at the sky, or even perhaps the sea. They kept everything downstairs, or in deep halls dug beneath the feet of the towers. I have always fancied that the idea of building came largely from the Elves, though we use it very differently.”

“If ever I live in a house, I shall keep everything I want downstairs,” Hazel stated decisively, “and only go up when I don’t want anything; or maybe I shall have cold supper upstairs in the dark on a starry night.”

“And have to carry plates and things downstairs, if you don’t fall all the way down,” laughed Jessimine.

“No!” argued Hazel. “I'll have wooden plates and bowls, and throw 'em out the window. There will be thick grass all round my house."

“But you would still have to carry your supper upstairs,” Frodo pointed out.

“Oh well then, perhaps I should not have supper upstairs,” said Hazel in exasperation. “It was only just an idea. I’d much rather live in a sensible smial, anyhow.”*

By the time this very hobbit-like conversation ended, they had reached their destination: a small, modest hole nestled in a round little hill. Frodo pulled up the pony-trap and handed the reins to Hazel while he helped Jessimine and Fennel out.

“Thank you for minding Hazel,” said Jessimine, turning around at the doorstep. “It really is a blessing.”

“No trouble,” Frodo replied with a smile.

Jessimine returned the gesture and settled Tansy on her hip. “Well, have a good time with him,” she said, “and be careful. He can be quite curious when he has a mind to be, and he seems to have a knack for getting into mischief.”

“Of course,” said Frodo with a chuckle. “He’ll be fine. I’ll see you this evening!”

Jessimine waved as he returned to the pony-trap and sat next to Hazel. With a returning wave, Frodo flicked the reins, and Galad set off at a brisk trot while Hazel called a final farewell to his mother.

***

“Well, Hazel, where to?” Frodo asked as they drove along the pleasant dirt road through the north moors. “We have the whole day ahead of us.”

Hazel thought for a moment. “What about a ride through the Bindbale? I know some good trails that are wide enough for the cart, and I can show you Bindbale Pond, where the Jolly Brook starts. It’s a grand place for catching frogs, and dad an' I have a little rowboat kept there, too!”

Frodo suppressed a shudder at the thought of boating. He had not participated in such pastimes since his parents’ deaths when he was twelve, and although he had eventually overcome his fear of water, he still avoided boating above all things.

Part of him chided himself for being so frightened of such an enjoyable activity—after all, it was not the boat’s fault that his parents had drowned—but the other part of him still wished to stay safely away from it.

Frodo sighed, and Hazel looked at him curiously, though he did not notice. He was torn in two: the more sensible Baggins part of him against the adventurous Tookish side.

Eventually, Frodo looked down at Hazel and smiled. The Tookish side had won. “Sounds like a fine plan,” he said. “I can show you the art of skipping stones while we’re at the pond—I happened to be a champion rock-skipper when I was a lad growing up in Brandy Hall, you know.”

Hazel snorted. “I’ll believe that when I see it!” he teased, pushing the brim of Frodo’s hat down over his eyes. Frodo grinned and pushed the hat back up so that he could see. He flicked the reins and urged Galad into a canter, sending Hazel, who had not the time to get a good grip, falling back against the seat and nearly over it into the back of the cart.

Frodo laughed and looked down at Hazel. “I thought you enjoyed going fast?” he said playfully. Hazel growled, although he could not contain a grin and he had to admit that he did love the feel of the wind in his face.

They slowed to a brisk trot on the dirt path through the forest, and made a game of spotting the wildlife along the way.

“There’s another squirrel!” Hazel exclaimed happily, leaning over the side of the pony-trap so far that he nearly fell off. “One more point for me!”

Frodo frowned. “That’s not fair!” he protested. “All the squirrels are on your side! Ah, no, I take it back! There’s one more for me!”

After traveling, eastward, through the woods for about fifteen minutes, they came upon a wooden bridge, spanning the Jolly Brook, which flowed directly in front of them. “My dad and the other menfolk of town have been buildin’ this,” Hazel commented as they halted in front of it.

“Will it hold the cart’s weight?” Frodo asked doubtfully, remembering Sam’s earlier comment that morning about them still building it—although the bridge certainly looked sturdy enough.

“Should,” Hazel said, peering at the bridge. “Dad sometimes has to drive the wagon over it with supplies.”

“Well, if it can hold a wagon, it can hold us,” Frodo decided. “But I’m going to get down and lead Galad, just to be safe. Here, you take the reins, and don’t let her run wild with me.”

Hazel accepted the reins and nodded earnestly. “O' course not, Uncle Frodo,” he said. “I can hold her just fine.”

Frodo hopped off the seat and walked over to Galad’s head. “Hullo there, girl,” he said softly, patting the pony’s neck and loosely taking hold of her halter with one hand, looking up and nodding to Hazel. “Easy now…it’s all right, just a little bridge…” He continued to talk soothingly to her as the pony hesitatingly walked across the bridge. She snorted in alarm at the first loud, echoing thump that her hoof made as it made contact with the wood, but with Frodo and Hazel’s combined voices, she calmed and allowed herself to be led slowly across the bridge.

Once across, Frodo, with one last cheerful pat of Galad’s neck, climbed back up onto the seat, taking the reins back as Hazel handed them to him. The boy climbed into the back of the cart to get out some roadside food from the knapsack they’d brought, and sat there munching an apple and happily talking with Frodo for the remainder of the trip to Bindbale Pond.

The Pond was hardly big enough to be called so, although beautiful and home to many kinds of birds and other wildlife. A kingfisher called from where it perched on a partially submerged tree branch, and frogs chirped in the reeds.

“Here we are,” Hazel announced, standing up and spreading out his hands with a grin, “the beautiful Bindbale Puddle!” He and Frodo laughed, and he directed them to a glade beside the pond where there grew a large, shady tree—the perfect spot for a mid-day meal.

They set up their “camp” (as Hazel called it) beneath the tree, and unhitched Galad from the cart, tying her to a nearby sapling and letting her graze. Leaning comfortably against the tree trunk, the two hobbits ate a small lunch while watching the various kinds of wildlife.

“Do you come here often?” asked Frodo after a while, putting one hand comfortably behind his head and using the other to remove his hat and fan himself.

Hazel nodded, swallowing a large bite of his sandwich. “Dad an’ me come here ’most every day,” he said. “Sometimes we fish, or I play 'ere with Robin while he works with the menfolk on the bridge.”

After helping Frodo put away the remainders of their meal, Hazel went into the reeds to catch frogs, while Frodo watched, still too hot to feel like getting up. This was without a doubt the hottest and most humid day of the entire summer, and Frodo marveled that Hazel did not seem to even notice the heat as he carefully hunted frogs. The cicadas droned monotonously, in time with the slow croaking of frogs and lazy buzzing of bees. It was as though all of nature was hot and drowsy.

Within about a quarter of an hour, Hazel grew bored catching frogs and returned to the shade where Frodo still leaned against the tree, both hands behind his head, and his hat over his eyes. Hazel curiously walked over and lifted the brim of the hat, to find that Frodo was asleep.

A grin spread over Hazel’s face. “WAKE UP, UNCLE FRODO!” he shouted loudly, doubling up with laughter as Frodo’s eyes flew open and he jerked awake with a yelp.

Frodo rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up, stretching his arms above his head. “Fell asleep, did I? You could have been a tad more gentle in waking me.” He playfully smacked Hazel with his hat. The boy was buried too deep in laughter to even speak.

“Well, now that I’m up, what do you want to do?” Frodo asked, standing up and brushing off his trousers.

Hazel regained control of himself and coughed. “We could go boating,” he suggested, “or you could show me how you can skip rocks.”

Frodo chuckled and looked out over the water. “Let’s go boating first,” he said after a long moment of thought, deciding that it would be better to get the worst over and done with. “Then I shall beat you at rock-skipping.”

Hazel snorted and led the way along the pond to where his small rowboat was covered with a leather tarp and placed beneath a mulberry bush near the bank. With Frodo’s help, he pulled it out and slid it towards the water. As they climbed in, he noticed Frodo’s slightly pale face, and chortled.

“Uncle Frodo, you needn’t look so frightened—it’s only a little water!” he teased, getting the oars in place and sitting beside the older hobbit.

Frodo looked at him with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m sorry, Hazel,” he said. “Really, I love the water.” He took one of the oars with a slightly brighter smile, to prove his statement.

“Then don’t be such a worrier,” Hazel chided him gently. “Me an’ Robin an’ dad an’ the rest go in this boat all the time. It’s perfectly safe. Besides”—he and Frodo began to row—“what could possibly happen?”

 TBC...

* This conversation about houses is from ‘The Return of the Shadow,’ in the chapter ‘To Maggot’s Farm and Buckland:’ pages 92-93. I changed it a tad to fit the characters, but it was so adorable and hobbit-like that I just had to include it! ;-) Too bad it didn’t make it into the final version of FotR.