A Birthday, A Cold, A Memory and a Gift: Chapter Four

The area where Bilbo and Frodo had decided they would camp was actually not far at all from Bag End, tucked just off the East-West road. They didn’t want Pippin to realize this, of course. They knew he was likely to protest if it did not seem that they were going anywhere far or remotely exciting, so they lead the way down in the most round-about manner they could fashion and Pippin, who was far less familiar with the roads of Hobbiton than those in Tuckborough, did not suspect a thing.

On a day as pretty as that one, it was hard not to let the conversation flow freely and effortlessly from one’s mouth, and the small group was no exception.

Bilbo and Gandalf , walking slightly back from the rest, spoke companionably but kept their voices low. Some of the topics they chose to speak about were not best shared with present company, though much of it would be revealed in the coming weeks as Bilbo’s fateful party approached.

Present company was not listening anyway. They were quite busy with their own conversation.

Sam and Merry, who walked nearest to Gandalf and Bilbo, chattered back and forth without any apparent pause. Merry always felt that Sam knew quite a lot of useful things for a lad nearly the same age as him and so whenever the opportunity was upon him, he found himself asking Sam endless questions about all sorts of matters, from how to use rope to make a counter-balance to the best way in which to catch a snake. And Sam felt freer than normal to speak, for Merry, like most of the Bucklanders Sam had encountered, did not see much of a reason to speak differently to those in other stations of class and made no effort to do so.

Frodo and Pippin, walking side by side in the lead, carried on nearly as well. Although Pippin sometimes felt that Frodo could be a bit of a bore and not so adventurous or fun as Merry, he still looked up to him and found that, as a near-adult, he knew a few things of interest. Frodo, for his part, was more than happy to talk to his young cousin again. Hearing that musical, childish voice made his heart feel lighter and it became harder and harder to believe that anything could ever go awry in the world.

At one point, though, Frodo realized that Pippin had fallen quiet, allowing Frodo to ramble on for a bit. He stopped now and looked down at his small relation.

"What’s the matter, Pip?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are you frowning so? You look as if you’re thinking about something rather intense. That’s the same face I used to make when Bilbo insisted I learn to do percentages in my head."

Pippin did not smile. He looked up at Frodo, his face the picture of serious 11-year-old concentration. "Frodo?"

"Yes?"

"Are we going to be passing by the Proudfoots’s house?"

"Proudfeet. Yes, Pip, I think we are. We can go another way if you like." Frodo was all too familiar with Pippin’s dislike for Sancho Proudfoot. The two lads were the same age but Sancho was nearly twice the size of Pippin and never let the Took forget it. They usually ended up in an argument or a scuffle at large family parties. Frodo had found himself with the duty of tearing Sancho off of Pip or vice versa on several occasions and while Pippin was certainly less innocent than he looked, Sancho, Frodo knew, was far more cruel than he let on to the adults.

"No," Pippin shook his head, "That’s good. I want to go by there."

"Pip, don’t go looking to start trouble."

Pippin’s eyes grew ridiculously wide. "I’m not!"

"Then why do you want to go by there?"

"Because," Pippin explained through the side of his mouth so he would not be overheard, "I want him to see me with Gandalf!"

Frodo shut his lips tight to keep from laughing. He managed a serious nod and said quietly, "I see."

As they started round the last hill before the road passed the Proudfoot house, Pippin put up his hood, carefully hiding his shorn head from enemy eyes.

Frodo nudged him and he looked up, questioningly.

"How’s Sancho supposed to know it’s you who’s walking with Gandalf if you hide your face?"

Pippin stopped in his tracks, obviously having not considered this.

"But he’ll make fun of me."

Frodo’s heart twinged a little. He got down on his knee and pushed back Pippin’s hood and ran his fingers over the soft fuzz of his hair. "Nonsense. There’s nothing to make fun of. You’re more handsome than any silly Proudfoot ever was and anyway, he’ll be too busy being jealous that you got to go adventuring with Gandalf to even notice your hair."

"Do you think so?"

"Of course."

Pippin smiled slowly. He patted down his hood so that it laid flat across his shoulders and, puffing out his little chest, took his place once again beside Frodo, leading their company onward.

He was sorely disappointed after they passed the Proudfoot house and there didn’t appear to be anyone out playing in the yard. Frodo assured him, though, that he was pretty certain he’d seen Sancho’s puggy nose peeking at the window.

~~~~

They arrived at their destination precisely in time for dinner, as hobbits often do. There was a great bustling about as they set up camp, kindled a small cooking fire, and began to serve the meal.

Pippin was quite pleased with the location (it seemed ever so far from boring old Hobbiton) and even more pleased that he had managed to find himself seated between Bilbo and Gandalf.

Frodo smiled from where he sat across from them, helping Sam to fill plates. It was obvious to him that Pippin was trying very hard not to be caught staring at the wizard and Frodo couldn’t blame the lad for being curious. All hobbits were familiar with the big people who occasionally passed through the Shire on the East-West road, but few had ever had close contact with one. Frodo doubted that the Paladin Took’s, who were particularly protective of their only son, had ever let Pip near a big person, let alone one so notorious as Gandalf.

At some point, though, it became quite apparent that Pippin was staring at the side of Gandalf’s head. There was clearly something quite fascinating there that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from.

Gandalf turned to him finally, seeming to move only his lips and his bushy eyebrows. "Is there something you wish to ask me, Master Took?"

"Why, yes," Pippin replied, not hesitating at all, as he very much wanted to know the answer, "Do your ears feel funny being like that?"

Merry and Sam gasped, but Gandalf merely raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Well," Pippin sat forward slightly, "All rounded like that. I don’t see how you can possibly hear at all without proper points."

"Pippin!" Merry cried, aghast, "Don’t be rude!" Then he turned to Gandalf and pleaded desperately. "Oh, Gandalf, he doesn’t mean to be rude. I’m sure he’s sorry. He didn’t mean it. He just…says things sometimes and he doesn’t even think they’re rude."

Sam added a beg as well. "Please, sir, d-don’t be angry with ‘em. He’s just a lad!"

Pippin frowned at them all, confused by such a response when all he’d done was ask a reasonable question.

Frodo first looked to Bilbo, who continued lighting his pipe as though nothing had happened. Then he looked to Gandalf and caught the twinkle in the old wizard’s eye. Frodo smiled back.

"My ears," Gandalf began then, "feel no more ‘funny’ than your own ears. And my hearing is quite sharp. Incidentally," he puffed deeply on his pipe, "the Old Took asked me that very same question upon our first meeting."

Pippin sat up and beamed. "See, Merry? You don’t mind questions at all, do you Gandalf?" Before Gandalf could reply, Pippin continued on. "My father says that the only way you can ever get to know anything is to ask about it. So if I continue to ask questions, I should think that I would know everything there is to know before too long."

Merry had regained his color and was now looking at Pippin with his usual tolerance. "Yes, Pip, that’s probably true, but seeing as how most of the questions you ask have to do with how long until the next meal is being served, you’ll probably know everything there is to know about dinner and not much else."

Pippin grinned. "Speaking of which, whenever are we going to eat?"

"Right now!" Frodo replied firmly, and he thrust the first full plate into Pippin’s hands.

~~~~

"Goodness, Pippin, you have the table manners of a piglet."

"We’re not AT a table, Merry. We’re on the grass."

"Well, you should still try to act like it. Honestly, licking jam off the side of your arm…"

"What was I supposed to do? It dribbled down there."

"Why do you think we’ve brought napkins? You’re supposed to use them, apple-brain. It’s just horrid watching you do that."

"No more horrid than listening to you snort and snoggle while you eat."

"I don’t ‘snort and snoggle.’"

"Yes, you do."

"No I don’t."

"Yes, you do."

"Merry! Pippin! Stop it both of you!" Frodo dove between the bickering cousins, covering his ears. "You’ll drive us all quite mad, squabbling like that."

"We’re not squabbling."

"Yes, you are, Pip," Frodo said, setting his hand upon Pippin’s arm firmly. He then drew it back in disgust. "And you’re all sticky!"

"That’s the jam." Merry said smugly, crossing his arms.

"Well, if it’s the same jam you’ve got all over your face, Meriadoc, I’d wager you’re just as sticky," Bilbo interrupted. "Now both of you go down to that little creek over there and have a good washing-up. Frodo, you go with and make sure they do as they’re told."

"But he hasn’t finished his tea." Pippin pointed out.

"Well that’s just too bad, Peregrin."

"But it’ll get cold!"

"I’m sure Frodo can manage to drink cold tea somehow."

Sam stepped forward then and tapped hesitantly on Bilbo’s shirt cuff. "I-if you please, sir, I-I can go down with them and make sure they get washed up. Then Mister Frodo here can stay and finish his tea."

Bilbo threw his arms up. "Thank you, Sam. At last, someone in this party has some decent sense about him. Now, shoo, all of you. Give us a minute’s peace."

Frodo let go of his cousins somewhat reluctantly as Sam took over escorting them to the creek. Meekly, he returned to his tea, which he hadn’t really wanted all that much anyway.

He sat in the warm grass watching dragonflies and bumble bees and the bright dell grew peaceful and quiet once again. It got so quiet, in fact, that he nearly jumped when he heard Gandalf begin to speak again in his low, rumbley voice to Bilbo.

"I should have guessed that only young hobbits could surpass their parents in appetite comparable to size."

"Mmm?" Bilbo looked confused for a moment, then he waved his hand about. "Oh, yes, yes. Growing hobbits certainly do take in a lot. I thought Frodo would eat me into the poor house but he does seem to be tapering off as he comes of age. That Peregrin, though…" Bilbo laughed, "I don’t know how they manage to keep the kitchens stocked at the Smials with an appetite like that."

Gandalf nodded. "Making up for lost time, I suppose."

"Well, that’s true enough," Bilbo said, taking up an abandoned piece of sweet bread and dunking it in his tea, "Paladin says the lad’s lost nine and three-quarters pounds. Now that might not seem a lot to a big person like you, I’m sure, but to a hobbit—and a little half-sized lad who didn’t have much to begin with—that’s a serious matter. Should have been done in about five times over at this point, such a weak thing, he is."

Gandalf was quiet. He did not need to know how much nine and three-quarters pounds meant to a spindly little lad like that—he could tell it easily enough just by seeing him. He did not doubt, either, the validity of what Bilbo said Paladin had claimed. Hobbits, he knew, were quite fond of recording all sorts of factual information and they dearly loved provable numbers (such as degrees, pounds and inches) that could be marked off in neat columns on the pages of some dusty family record book. What he found he did not agree with, however, was Bilbo’s apparent attitude about the matter. He knew the hobbit had a tendency to come off a bit cold or brusque without meaning to, mainly by virtue of having lived alone so many years, but at the moment they were not alone and Gandalf couldn’t help but notice the rigid line young Frodo’s shoulders had taken on as he listened to their conversation.

He cleared his throat. "Do not mistake size for strength, Bilbo Baggins. You of all people should know better than that."

Bilbo looked to his friend a bit startled by the unexpected reprimand, but then he shrugged and took a sip of his tea. "Well, you’re right enough about that, I suppose."

Frodo stood up suddenly, then, and addressed them quickly without making eye contact.

"I, I think I better go down to the creek and check on them," he motioned in the direction the other three lads had tripped off to just a few moments before, "Now that I think about it, I’m not sure I trust Pippin by running water like that."

Bilbo frowned. "Surely Meriadoc will keep an eye on him. He always does."

"I fear Merry is just as likely to encourage him. He’s less grown-up than he pretends, you know, Uncle."

"Well, then Sam--"

"Don’t worry about it, Uncle," Frodo called over his shoulder, walking away briskly toward the creek, "I’ll bring them right back."

He walked quickly, as quick as he could to get away from them, so they wouldn’t see, wouldn’t know how absolutely, (unreasonably, he told himself) utterly terrified he’d suddenly become. He shuddered and wiped tears away from his eyes with his palms. It hadn’t occurred to him before just how fragile everybody really was, how delicately things held together, how he could lose someone so bright and cheerful just as easily as he’d lost…well, as easily as he’d lost his parents.

"You’re a silly fool, Frodo Baggins," he said to himself as he snuffled his runny nose very un-grown-up-like on his sleeve, "Nevertheless, nothing will happen to any of them, so long as I’m here to keep watch now."

~~~~

The three young hobbits who were washing up lazily at the edge of the creek did not notice Frodo watching them from his eagle-eye position, up on the banks behind a narrow birch. They were quite consumed in their own business.

"Now, Mister Pippin, you haven’t barely washed yourself clean at all!"

"I have too, Sam. My hands are cleaner than anything. Look." Pippin forced his hands under the Gamgee’s nose.

Sam batted them down gently and put his hands on his hips. "It’s not just your hands I be lookin’ at. Your face is a right mess as well and you’ve even managed to get jam all stuck about in your hair."

Pippin laughed. "I haven’t got any hair to get jam stuck in."

"I didn’t think so neither, but it’s there plain as day."

"Let me see." Merry said, and he leaned over to inspect. Then he laughed. "It’s true, Pip. You’re a marvel of nature."

Pippin did not look pleased to be a marvel of nature. He scowled. "Well, how’m I supposed to get it out?"

"Just dunk your head in and scrub it out, goose."

"But the creek’s so cold, Merry. I couldn’t."

"I’ll dunk you, then," Sam shrugged, "You won’t have time to worry about how cold it is if you don’t know when to expect it."

"I’ll do it, Sam," Merry said, moving in ever so slightly and taking control. Although he admired Sam greatly, he didn’t trust anyone but himself to lay a hand on his cousin. "Don’t worry, Pippin," he told the uneasy lad, "I won’t hold you down too long. I’ll scrub fast and have you up before you can say Jackrabbit Spongecake."

Pippin grimaced, but he trusted Merry a great deal and he knew that this was the only way they were ever going to leave him alone about the wretched jam. He cursed those lovely, jammy tarts under his breath and consented to being dunked and scrubbed.

Merry did the job quickly and efficiently, quite used to dealing with the squirming Took. He pulled him out of the water before he even had a chance to sputter or complain.

"You alright?" Merry asked, brushing some of the water off Pippin’s dripping face.

Pippin sat very still with his eyes scrunched shut until Sam and Merry were sufficiently worried. Then he cracked a smile and whispered, "Jackrabbit Spongecake."

Merry laughed, then sat back on his knees as Sam came forward, having removed his own shirt and offering it as a towel.

"I won’t have you catching your death of cold now, Mister Pippin."

He realized a moment too late what he’d said and stiffened in horror, as did Merry.

Pippin, however, did not seem to notice. He pushed aside the old but well-made shirt and stood up, shaking water about as he did.

"I’ll let the sun dry me off," he said, and grinning happily, skipped up the bank to where the sunlight shown more direct. There he was startled to find his cousin.

"Why, Frodo, what are you doing up here? And why is your face all red? Did you finish your tea?"

Frodo sat up and, laughing, he pulled the little lad to him. "You do wish to know everything, don’t you?"

Pippin allowed himself to be dragged into Frodo’s lap but didn’t answer that question, preferring to have his own questions answered first.

"Well," Frodo began, "I did finish my tea, thank you. It was quite nice for tea. But then I felt that lunch perhaps didn’t agree with me so well, so I thought I’d come up here and have a lie down because the sun is ever so nice in this spot."

He had unbuttoned his waistcoat while he was speaking and he used the edge of it now to wipe excess water off Pippin’s face. Then, laying back, he pulled Pip down beside him. "Look at how lovely the clouds are," he said.

Pippin nodded and laid still for once. For as much as he was a squirmer, he was also a cuddler. The two were soon joined by Sam and Merry, who laid down to admire the clouds as well. All four gradually grew so quiet, that the birds and squirrels were no longer even aware of their presence.

~~~~

Bilbo’s shrill voice cut across the dell, waking all four young hobbits instantly from the nap they’d drifted into.

"Wherever have you lads gone off to? The sun is setting and it won’t do at all to be getting into mischief. Paldin Took will have my head. Not to mention the Gaffer!"

Pippin bolted to his feet, remembering that there was Bilbo and Gandalf and far more interesting things about. He sprinted for the camp, leaving the other three to follow him in their somewhat bewildered, half-asleep states.

He fell and tumbled to a halt into the dusty ring of the camp, so surprised was he to see the cake set up before him.

It was not a large cake by any means, but he still could not recall seeing any package that looked like it among their packs, although he had not been expecting such a thing and so really had not looked all that carefully.

Bilbo gave the lad a delighted smile as Gandalf bent down to light the candles, which he seemed to be doing with out the aid of matches, although Pippin was too excited to notice.

"Merry!" he shrieked. "Merry! Merry! Frodo! Sam! Come see!"

Frodo appeared then behind him and placed steadying hands on the shoulders of his little cousin, who was jumping up and down in his excitement. "It’s just a cake, Pippin," he laughed.

"Yes, my lad," Bilbo nodded, "Can’t have a proper birthday party without a proper cake."

"And presents!" Pippin whispered, his face becoming three shades brighter, although that hardly seemed even possible. "I forgot. I brought presents!"

"Did you?" Merry asked. "When did you find time to get presents?"

"I made them." Pippin ran to his pack and began tossing out various articles of clothing and food until he came upon the tin box he’d set carefully at the very bottom. But then he paused. He’d been quite impressed with himself when he’d made the gifts about a week ago, but now he wondered if they wouldn’t seem a bit babyish.

But it was too late for that, he figured. He hadn’t thought to pack anything else to give. He was grateful, though, that he’d decided to be generous, at least, for he’d packed two each for Merry, Frodo and Bilbo when he’d thought that was all who’d be coming, but now there would be enough so that everybody could have one.

He opened the tin and began to distribute the gifts shyly, small animals he’d made out of folded paper, a trick one of his North-Took cousins had taught him while he’d been confined to his bed.

"This is Beorn," he said, handing Merry a paper bear. "And this is Thorin the dwarf," he said, handing a pointy-headed figure to Sam. "And Smaug," he handed a dragon to Frodo.

"These are amazing, Pip." Frodo replied, shaking his head in wonder.

"Do you think so?" Pippin suddenly felt much less babyish.

"Of course. I’ve never seen anything like this."

"I can’t believe you made these yourself," Merry murmured, admiring his Beorn then inspecting Sam’s Thorin.

Pippin beamed. "And this is you, Bilbo, with Sting."

Bilbo laughed at the remarkably hobbity little creation with the drawn-on sword. "Oh, yes, you learned this from the North-Tooks, didn’t you? I remember my mother used to know the same tricks. Learned it from her Long Cleave cousins, she once said."

Pippin nodded happily, then approached Gandalf with his gift. "This is the Eagle Lord."

Gandalf accepted the paper bird and bowed his head. "A very accurate representation."

"And who did you keep for yourself, Pip?" Frodo asked, pointing to the last figure left in the box.

Pippin blushed. "That’s Gandalf."

~~~~

After the candles were blown out, a supper was eaten and followed by slices of the delicious frosty cake and many songs. There was more praise for the paper animals, and praise for the food and praise for the fine day and fine company and fine song. Then, as the lads scrambled to lay out their bedrolls and scurried into nightclothes, Bilbo readied for what they’d all been waiting for. He lit his pipe and settled into proper story-telling position.

"What would you lads like to hear?"

"Tell us about when all the dwarves showed up and you nearly drove yourself mad trying to feed them all," Frodo laughed. He loved that story for he loved Bag End and he loved to picture it filled with impertinent dwarves and poor Old Bilbo running about, trying so hard to be polite.

"No, tell us about Smaug!" Merry cried and Sam supported him with a "here, here," for every lad liked that story best.

Bilbo laughed and leaned forward. "And what would you have me tell, Peregrin? This is after all, your party."

Pippin thought about it long and hard. He dearly liked the scariest stories, of Gollum in the cave and the spiders of Mirkwood, but he liked them only in the day time and not when camping out while it was so dark outside. And the dwarves were really Frodo’s story, it was true, and Smaug was what everyone else always asked for. And the stories about Gandalf didn’t seem right to tell when he was here with them.

"Tell us about the trolls that nearly ate you," he said at last, "and then tell us about the eagles at the battle." (For that was really his favorite.)

So Bilbo took a deep breath and began, his voice rising and falling with the animation of the story, gesturing with his hands and hopping to his feet when emphasis was needed.

The lads laughed and cheered and shuddered at appropriate points all through the first story. By the second tale, though, they had grown sleepy, filled with food inside their tummies and contentedness in their hearts. Merry and Sam drifted off quite quickly and Pippin managed to stay awake to the point in the story where Bilbo told about getting bopped on the head with a rock, but he was fast asleep by the time Bilbo finished the story in a soft whisper.

Frodo alone had stayed awake to the end, unable to sleep until he was certain the other lads were slumbering peacefully. And safe. Only then did he allow himself to let drowsiness win and give over his fearful concerns to the twinkling stars. He fell asleep to the sound of Bilbo and Gandalf, speaking quietly between each other and the grasses swaying gently in the breeze.

~~~~

That night Frodo had a very odd dream. What was most odd about it was that at the time he had no doubt it was real.

He awoke in his bedroll, long after the fire had died out. He looked all about him to see what had caused him to wake, but everyone seemed to be still sleeping quite soundly. Then he knew immediately what was wrong. Pippin was gone.

"Pippin," he hissed, "Pippin!"

He sat up just in time to catch sight of his cousin making his way across the dell, running as fast as his short legs could take him, his nightclothes ghostly in the dark.

In a heartbeat, Frodo had set out after him, hissing "Pippin!" all the way.

As he ran through the grasses, struggling to keep his eyes on the darting white form, he felt the strangest certainty that he heard singing.

He caught up with Pippin at last when the lad stopped just over the hill where the dell met the East-West road. Frodo fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around Pippin, who was fixated, staring up the road.

"Look, Frodo," he said softly, pointing, "Elves."

Frodo looked where he was instructed and found that the singing had not been in his head. There were indeed elves coming up the road, two men and a lady in white robes on white horses. They sang between them a gay traveling song.

When they caught sight of the hobbits, they stopped riding and silence fell over their company. Frodo stood and instinctively tightened his hold around Pippin.

The lady and one of the men dismounted and began to approach them slowly.

"H-hello," Frodo stammered, "F-forgive us f-for d-disturbing you. We d-didn’t mean to."

The elves did not reply, but smiled pleasantly. The lady seemed to be interested in Pippin. She knelt in front of him and took his face in her gentle hands. As she peered at him she spoke to her companion in their own tongue.

"What is she saying?" Pippin asked.

Frodo struggled to remember the Elvish Bilbo had taught him, but it was much harder hearing it spoken rather than reading it in a book and, anyway, he was rather nervous. But then he laughed as he was suddenly quite certain that she had said that Pippin looked like a dandelion whose puff has been blown off.

The lady elf smiled, hearing his laugh. She leaned forward and kissed Pippin’s head and whispered odd words that Frodo couldn’t pick out at all but sounded nearly like a spoken song or a poem. She seemed no longer to be addressing any of them, or perhaps she spoke to all of nature all at once.

Then Gandalf was standing beside them and the elves nodded at him and the four spoke briefly for a time in flowing Elvish. Frodo made no attempt to understand the words this time, for he was distracted by Pippin, who seemed to have fallen asleep in his arms after the elf lady returned to her companions.

After a time he heard the singing again and, looking up he found that the elves had mounted their horses and were continuing their journey down the road. Gandalf bent down beside him and took Pippin still sleeping into his arms. Then he took Frodo’s hand into his own.

"Come along now, Frodo. Let’s return to bed."

The walk back across the grasses seemed endless and strange. Frodo could no longer hear the distant singing and by the time they reached the camp he realized with some horror that he was crying silently and could not bring himself to stop.

Gandalf laid Pippin back on his bedroll, then pulled Frodo to his side gently.

"Frodo," he said, "There is something I want you to hear."

Frodo followed Gandalf’s guiding hands and put his ear to Pippin’s narrow chest. At first he heard nothing but his own labored breathing, but then he concentrated harder and he heard beyond that a steady, unerring beat.

"He has a strong heart," Gandalf said as Frodo picked up his head and looked to him, "It is great love that fuels that. That is the only thing that you or anyone else can really give him and it will always be the best that you can do, no matter what may come."

He took Frodo into his arms then and allowed the lad to cry out the remainder of his tears until there were no more to shed. Then he patted his soft, dark curls and lead him to his bedroll beside his little cousin.

"Lay there now," he instructed, "Have no further fear."

Frodo closed his eyes upon his pillow and knew no more as he drifted to sleep and on to what he later supposed were just more dreams.

~~~~

Frodo awoke to quite a commotion the next morning.

"Pippin!" Merry cried, "Your hair!"

Frodo rolled out of his blankets and sat up, rubbing his eyes, just as Pippin started to shriek, grasping the full mop of curls that now grew upon his head.

"My word," Bilbo murmured, "I’ve never seen such a thing. Gandalf, have you ever heard of anything like this before?"

Gandalf did not reply but no one noticed for now it was Frodo who was grabbing their attention, shouting as he stumbled to his feet.

"The elves, Pippin, the elves must have done it! That must have been what the elf lady was saying just before she kissed you!"

Pippin looked even more shocked than he had when he discovered his new hair just a moment before. "Elves, Frodo? What are you talking about?"

"But, but Pippin," Frodo’s eyes were wide, "Don’t you remember? Last night. The elves. They were singing and the lady, the lady—she kissed you."

"Elves?" Bilbo scratched his head, "I think I should have awoken if I heard Elvish singing nearby."

Pippin knit his brows for a moment, then brushed the thoughts and foolish Frodo away, his mind returning once more to his hair. "I do wish I’d brought a looking glass," he said, "Does it look much different than it did before?"

"I think about the same," Merry replied.

"Not any greener?"

Merry shrugged. "Maybe a bit."

Then Sam suggested that perhaps if they went down to the creek, Pippin could see for himself in his reflection in the water. Pippin was off before Sam had barely got the words out, Merry following fast behind him.

Sam hesitated just a moment before he joined them.

"It must be nice to be dreamin’ about elves, Mister Frodo," he said wistfully, "I often try to dream of them myself, but I don’t seem to be much good at decidin’ what I want to dream and then doin’ it."

Frodo gave Sam a weak smile and sighed. He watched him trot off, along with Bilbo, who seemed quite energized by all the commotion. Then he turned to Gandalf desperately.

"You saw the elves last night, didn’t you, Gandalf? You remember what happened, don’t you?"

Again the wizard said nothing, but his eyes twinkled as he lit his pipe.

~~~~

(This is the end of the flashback started in chapter three. We return to the original story in the next chapter.)