Chapter Four: Lazy Days of Summer

Merry and his mum would be staying the rest of the summer as usual; his da joining them when he could. And, as usual, Merry was determined to spend the time playing with his young cousin. Lad might not say much, but that was no reason to leave him behind.

“Now, Merry, you must be careful,” Aunt Eglantine had said as he approached her the first time with Pippin in his arms.

“Yes, of course, Aunt,” he nodded gravely.

“He mustn’t be chilled.”

Merry nodded again, a bead of sweat trickling along his hairline -- he had just come from a tramp in the garden.

“And he mustn’t get overwarm,” Eglantine added, placing a hand on Pippin’s cool brow.

Another nod.

“And you must be very careful. He cannae get sick again, Merry.” Eglantine looked beseechingly at her nephew. “He must not.”

“I --” Merry started to reply, when his mother swept into the room and took Eglantine by the elbow to lead her away. “Merry,” Esmeralda began firmly, only to be interrupted by her son.

“Mum,” he said strongly as he looked into her eyes, “I promise, I’ll take very, very good care of him.”

Esmeralda nodded and drew Eglantine away to tend to some long-neglected business with the Smials, or her daughters.

Merry looked down at the small cousin he held. Pippin’s eyes were open, and staring up toward Merry’s face, but he didn’t seem to notice that they were peering through a fringe of sandy curls.

“Aye,” Merry whispered as he bent to place a kiss through the curls onto Pippin’s forehead. “I’ll be full of care for you, young Pippin-lad.”


Merry had propped Pippin to lean against a tree, a blanket softened by many launderings cushioning him from the rough bark and the green grass. The sun shone in dapples through the leaves of the copse, but the shade protected them from its heat.

“Well, Pip,” he asked from where he sat cross-legged against a nearby tree, “what shall we do today? Find golf balls to throw in the pond? Nick an extra tea when no one’s looking? Put crawly bugs down lasses’ dresses?”

The 15-year-old paused, waiting a moment for his small companion’s response. None was forthcoming as Pippin continued to lean quiet and still against the tree. His eyes were open, but it was as Aunt Eglantine said: you couldn’t tell if he was asleep or awake.

“How about the crawly bugs, then?” Merry continued in a voice of forced cheer, beginning to crawl on his hands and knees to search for likely candidates among the blades of grass. “Pervinca’s still rather cranky with you, you know,” he said over his shoulder to Pippin. “I think she needs you to put a nice, juicy bug down her back.”

He had plucked a blade of grass with a shiny blue beetle crawling along it, and turned Pippin’s hand over to transfer both insect and grass into the palm. “It would do Pervinca good,” he concluded. Merry cupped his own hand beneath Pippin’s to support the tiny burden.

* * *Mmm. ‘Tis warm. But cool in spots, too. Nice. Like when a breeze blows onto my bed. Bed? No, not.... Something’s tickling my hand, but it seems so far away somehow. Funny. Oh, the sleepy-darks are coming again. They always pull me away.* * *


They were in the copse again. Merry lay on the blanket this time, stretched on his back with Pippin lying on top of him. He ran his hands gently along the small back as he spoke.

“Another fine day, then, my lad. My dearest Perry.” He lifted his head to peer at the top of Pippin’s curls, which had moved not a twitch, and let out a breath in a huff of pretended insult as he dropped back down again.

“All right, Pippin, then,” he continued in an aggrieved tone. “Don’t know why they raised such a fuss when I suggested it.” He shook his head. “Stuff and nonsense about too much confusion, my mum being Essie and her sister Bessie. And then Marmadas wanting to call Merimas ‘Merry,’ too. And why not, I ask you?” raising his head to look at Pippin again. “It’s a fine name.”

He leaned back again, his hands still tracing lazy designs on Pippin’s back. “But, no, Uncle Paddin said if he was Paddin, you’d be something along the lines -- and you were pipin’ loud, for all you were such a tiny babe!” Merry grinned down at Pippin, his smile fading only a bit as he continued the tale.

“I still think they should have let me give you your common-name, even if I was only eight” -- his voice broke on the last two words, as his hands squeezed the eight-year-old atop him -- “for you’re my little lad-cousin, after all.”

He leaned forward to whisper into a pointed ear the last part of the story. “But, anyway, you’ll always be my dear little Perry.” He pursed his lips and blew a soft puff into the ear. All that moved with it were the sandy curls.

* * *”Perry,” I heard...there’s a story about him. I think I like that story. But, oh, my pillow’s going thump, thump, and it’s so nice....* * *


Merry crouched beside the bushes that ran along the side of this garden patch farthest form the Smials. His right arm was wrapped around Pippin’s chest, holding the smaller hobbit close against him, legs dangling. His left hand crept out toward the plump maroon berries and snatched one from the branch. He popped it quickly into his mouth, raspberry juice staining his fingers and his lips.

“You see, Pip, it adds a bit of excitement --” he stopped to pop more berries into his mouth, moving awkwardly down the row of bushes as he maintained his crouching position, “--of adventure, if you will, if you take your food for yourself, instead of waiting for someone to give it to you. Eating at the table is all well and good, of course, but a growing hobbit likes to have -- well, something extra.”

A bird screeched overhead as Merry finished the sentence and popped another berry in his mouth, and he looked up to see the head fieldhobbit suddenly catch sight of him from the far side of the garden. Ned had his mouth open in some kind of protest, although Merry couldn’t hear it from this distance, and was taking a step forward to storm across the field.

Merry stared back at him, hard, and turned so he was facing Ned, bringing Pippin around in front of him. He used his forefinger to lift Pippin’s chin toward the fieldhobbit, showing him the slack, thin face. Ned stopped his march, flustered, then turned around to walk in the other direction, waving the other fieldhobbits away from this patch of garden.

Merry watched him go. “Well, then,” he sighed as he removed his hand from Pippin’s face, letting the pointed chin with its streak of raspberry juice fall back down, “I’ve always said you’re a handy little fellow to have around. Here, have a reward.” He pushed a raspberry into Pippin’s mouth before plucking another handful for himself and munching happily.

Yes, still a handy little fellow, Merry mused to himself as he chewed his berries, glancing down at the top of Pippin’s curls. Wait...berries required chewing! Pippin swallowed soft foods, but what if the lad choked? What had he done?

Terrified, Merry grabbed Pippin’s chin again and turned the face toward him, smearing more raspberry juice across the cheeks and chin. Among these darker purplish streaks, there was a pale, pinkish line dribbling down from the center of Pippin’s lower lip. Merry pressed his thumb on the center of that lip and lowered the jaw, peering into the mouth. More raspberry juice stained the teeth, but the berry itself was gone.

Merry let out a sigh of relief, then found his hand trembling as, within it, the jaw shifted and a tongue came out to lick the juice from the lips. The jaw then lowered again, leaving the mouth hanging open expectantly.

“Pip!” Merry breathed out exultantly, leaning forward to place a kiss on the forehead and thus smear more raspberry juice on the tiny face, “You can have as many berries as you want!”