A Visit From Mayor Samwise

Chapter Two: An After Meal Smoke

After a proper second breakfast, the hobbits in the Crickhollow house set about to separate tasks to do until it was time for tea. Estella went out to hang the wash, Pippin went to wake up Faramir and Merry and Sam retired to the study for a good after-meal smoke.

Sam settled comfortably into an old soft chair as Merry lit the pipes. Then they both put their feet up on the tea table. Hobbit tea tables were always built sturdy with this in mind.

"So what did you think of the young heir?" Merry asked, blowing a wobbly smoke ring at the ceiling.

"He’s all Took, he is. That’s plain as day. All great big eyes and naught much else."

Merry’s face was mirthful. "And did you say that to our Pippin?"

Sam laughed. "No sir. I said to him, ‘Mister Pippin, that there be the grandest Hobbit babe I seen in many months and I, sir, seen quite a lot.’"

"Oh, I bet he liked that."

"He did indeed. Nearly speechless, he was." Sam breathed in deeply the good Longbottom Leaf that Master Peregrin fetched monthly from the West Farthing and looked thoughtful. "He’s a rather small thing, it seems to me."

Merry nodded. "Just like Pip. Do you remember, Sam, when he was born, the way Old Paladin took him around to every big house in the Shire, showing him off like some sort of hunting prize?"

Sam sat forward, grinning. "I do remember that now! I’d nearly forgotten, so long ago, it seems. He came to Bag End and Frodo showed him to me then and I didn’t think much of him and then he bit Mister Bilbo’s finger and Mister Bilbo said…"

At this, both hobbits leaned forward and shouted out the words together, doing remarkable impersonations of the old Baggins.

"Paladin, that lad is nothing but trouble through-and-through! You should have stopped with the girls!"

They both fell back, laughing contentedly.

"Oh, that was grand," Merry sighed. "You remember how Frodo used to repeat that whenever Pippin got into trouble?"

"Aye," Sam said and then was quiet.

They smoked quietly for a bit, then, each having his own thoughts that he did not choose to share. After a time, though, Sam relaxed a bit and gazed over the room.

"There’s an awful mess of books and papers in here. What in Middle-Earth have you been working on?"

Merry stood up and stretched and looked about the room, as if not knowing quite where to begin.

"Well, I’ve been writing a bit. A lot of little things here and there. But most of this is Pippin’s mess."

"Is he writing a book?" Sam was surprised. Pippin was not known to sit still long enough to write out his full name.

"No," Merry shook his head, "He doesn’t fancy himself much of a writer, though I dare say he’d do just as well as any of us if he had the patience. But he’s become quite interested in collecting of late. I think he’s got some vague notion of setting up a library in Great Smials."

"Well, fancy that." Sam stood and began inspecting some of the piles of parchment and leather-bound books. Many of them had Gondorian titles and letters he recognized and he supposed those had been sent by way of the King. He found there was a second desk hidden beneath some of the stacks and he supposed that belonged to Pippin, as the other desk was neat and orderly and seemed to reflect Merry’s sensibility.

He laughed and turned to say something of it to his friend, but Merry did not appear to see him. He was looking quite sad and distant suddenly, and seemed to have forgotten anyone else was even in the room.

"Yes, Pippin’s gone and grown up despite himself," he murmured.

Sam looked on and knew not what to say and so he said nothing at all.

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