Chapter Thirteen: Rolling Along

Pippin soon grew comfortable at Bag End. Bilbo spent most of the day in the study, but joined the others in the parlor in the evenings, ink-stained fingers waving his pipestem as he told stories that were even better than Frodo’s. Frodo himself was quite kind, and never seemed to think Pippin a bother. And, of course, Merry was Merry.

As for Sam, Pippin had quite gotten over his first nervous fear of the gardener, and now his small eyes followed him about in frank admiration. He was quite pleased when Frodo suggested that Sam could watch him while working in the garden. It was time for lessons to start again, and Bilbo was going to be tutoring Merry as well as Frodo for a while.

Pippin had actually started his own lessons the previous year, but he saw no need to attempt reminding anyone of this fact. He found lessons at the Smials dreadfully boring. Every time he started them up again after being stuck in his bed for a while, they always went back to things he already knew.

Anyway, he was sure the things he was learning in the garden with Sam would be lots more useful.

Sam would spread an old blanket out on the ground and let Pippin lie on it while he worked. Then, when he was done harvesting a row, Sam would pick Pippin and the blanket up and carry them to the next row before beginning his work again.

Pippin could prop himself up on his elbows, now, while he lay on his tummy and watched what Sam was doing.

He watched intently as the gardener pulled carrots out of the ground. Merry had taken Pip on several garden raids this summer, but the things he pilfered for them always seemed to be readily visible above ground: berries, tomatoes, sweet corn.... Perhaps he didn’t know what carrot tops looked like. By next season, Pippin meant to be ready to teach his older cousin a thing or two.

Meanwhile, he was succeeding in getting Sam to feed him an occasional carrot from the harvest. He had quite a good face for it, one Merry had helped him discover.

They had been contorting their expressions to make funny faces into a mirror. When Pip sucked in his cheeks so that their insides fell into the hollows between his teeth, Merry stopped laughing. Pippin could see that he looked sad in the mirror, but by the time he twisted enough in Merry’s lap to look directly into his face, the older cousin was ready to laugh and play with him some more.

Pippin had tried the sucking-in-his-cheeks expression on Frodo later that day. Frodo got a sad look, too, and gave him a nice biscuit with icing on it, even though luncheon was over and it wasn’t teatime yet. Pippin decided that when bigger hobbits looked at him sad, he had a good chance of getting extra food.

The first week they were out in the garden, Sam felt he ought to make conversation. He and the Gaffer had always talked some, before the Gaffer decided that Sam was gettin’ on enough in years that he could handle Bag End by himself a while and took himself off to Tighfield for a long visit. Wanted to make sure his grandchillun were gettin’ fed all right, he said, as just because a hobbit was a fine roper didn’t mean he knew no nevermind about gardenin’.

“So, then,” Sam began as he fed the lad a carrot. “You’re Master Frodo’s cousin, too, just like Master Merry.”

Pippin nodded.

“So, what’s it like out in Buckland? I mean,” he added as he remembered the lad couldn’t talk, “Is Brandy Hall as big as they say it is, and all that?”

Pippin nodded again, a little uncertainly. He didn’t know exactly why Sam was asking him questions about Buckland, but he’d been there lots of times. Nobody at Bag End had talked about Great Smials much since he’d been in Hobbiton.

“Well, I suppose it might not seem so big to someone as lives there,” Sam conceded. “Depends on what you’re used to, I guess.”

Pippin shrugged.

Sam worked for a few more moments, then spoke again. “So, do you go swimmin’ and all? And use them -- them boats?” He suppressed a shudder.

Pippin shook his head sadly “no.” Merry hadn’t taught him yet, even though he’d promised to, some day.

Sam nodded sagely. Like enough, even them Brandybucks had enough sense to keep their little ones away from the water. He pulled a few more carrots.

“So, I suppose you’re too young to remember when Master Frodo lived at Brandy Hall, then?” Sam asked a few moments later.

Pippin crinkled his face in confusion. Frodo lived at Brandy Hall?

“Aye, I thought so,” Sam said quietly.

“Just always gets me curious when any Brandybucks is around, if you take my meanin’,” he said with a polite nod toward Pippin.

Pippin, who suddenly did take Sam’s meaning, blew out a great puff of air and crossed his arms in front of him, jutting out his lower lip and drawing his brows together.

“Well, now, what’s this?” Sam asked, surprised, as he turned to lay another carrot on the ground. “Are you tellin’ me you’re not a Brandybuck?”

Indeed not! thought Pippin, and shook his head vigorously, his Tookish little nose in the air.

“Well, what are you then?” Sam asked as he rocked back onto his heels. He’d just assumed, since the lad seemed to belong with Master Merry, that he was another of Master Frodo’s Brandybuck cousins. It wasn’t as if nobody ever called him anything but Master Pippin. But now, the way the lad was starin’ at him, he was like to haughty enough to be...

“A Took!” Sam exclaimed.

Pippin nodded once, shortly, pleased to finally be given his due recognition, and relaxed his scowl. He kept his nose pointed up for a few more moments, though, just so Sam got the idea that Tooks were not to be trifled with.

Sam, for his part, was stunned. He’d known Master Frodo and Mr. Bilbo had Took blood, of course, as it were part of why Mr. Bilbo went adventurin’ all those years ago. But he didn’t expect them to stick him, Sam Gamgee, in the garden all casual-like with a lad from the Shire’s first family and not give him any warning, or any special instructions. He decided not to worry about those extra carrots he’d slipped the lad.

When he carried Pippin in for the day, Sam spoke reproachfully.

“Honestly, Master Frodo, and here you’ve been lettin’ me think this cousin is another Brandybuck.” He shook his head. “He carried on so afore I guessed he was a Took that you’d a’ thought he was The Took, hisself.”

Pippin puffed up his chest, and Merry began to speak uncertainly, “Well, Sam...”

Frodo cut him off with a warning look as he lifted Pippin out of Sam’s arms. He didn’t need his gardener getting any more flustered. “Would you indeed?”

Once they had got that confusion straightened out, Pippin thought, things in the garden went along even better than before. He hardly even had to make his face anymore to get extra carrots. And Sam was very strong when he carried him, almost like Da, and sometimes he said poems to himself. Pippin didn’t know what they meant, exactly, and he had to strain to hear them because Sam tended to whisper, but he liked listening. He wondered if Sam could come work for him when he was Thain.


It was after they’d been in the garden a couple of weeks. Sam was nearing the end of a row, tugging at some stubborn turnip tops. Pippin was farther back in the row, lying on his blanket and enjoying the warm sunshine. He lay his elbows on the ground and tilted his head back, closing his eyes to better feel the sun on his face. Suddenly, one elbow slipped out from beneath him and he fell, the slight incline of the garden propelling him downhill.

When he came to a stop, he blinked in surprise. If he looked back up the hill, he could see his blanket lying there, and Sam still working on the turnips.

* * *Up there...down here...up there...down here...I moved! I moved, all by myself!* * *

Pippin tried to shriek with joy, but succeeded only in producing a small squeak.

* * *Can I...can I do it again?* * *

He dug his elbows into the ground and then pushed off with all his strength. He rolled a couple of more feet down the hill.

* * *Rolling! Rolling! I can move! Such a long time....* * *

Sam finally got the turnips free and moved to carry his little helper to the next row. He froze when he saw the blanket was empty, and then ran as fast as he could when he caught sight of the small body lying farther down the hill.

He was panting as he came to a stop over the lad, who was lying on his back.

“Master Pippin! Master Pippin, are you all right?” Sam asked shakily.

The lad gave him the biggest smile he’d seen him produce, and nodded with great energy. He reached up his arms to signal Sam to pick him up, and pointed up the hill to the blanket.

Relieved, Sam gladly complied.

When he set the small hobbit down on the blanket again, Pippin tugged on Sam’s trouser leg before he could turn back to the garden. He looked up into the gardener’s face a moment, still smiling, then pushed himself off to roll down the hill again.

When Sam carried Pippin inside at the end of that day, he clasped the lad on either side of his chest and held him out at arm’s length.

“Guess I’ll be needin’ to wear my grubbiest overhauls if I’m to be carryin’ you around now, hey, Master Pippin?” he chortled.

Pippin nodded several times, bouncing his curls. He was covered in dirt, but was still smiling broadly and making an occasional giggle.

* * *Rolling, rolling, rolling! And dirt! And they’ll give me a bath! Happy, happy, happy!* * *

He reached out his arms and leaned forward. Sam sighed fondly, giving up on staying clean, and allowed himself to be hugged.