Chapter 3 - Mischief’s Afoot

The following morning, Pippin woke up--then his heart sank. Although it wasn’t as bad as the day before, Pippin still had some trouble making out the details of objects and the distances in between. How long will this go on?, he thought. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. Laying aside his blankets, he carefully stood up, holding onto furniture as he walked towards his bureau. One such effort brought a sharp pain to his sore wrist, giving a small yelp.

“Good morning, Pip.”

Pippin nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to where he heard his cousin’s voice. “Merry! You ought to say something before you scare someone like that!”

Merry acted offended, “I just did! I said good morning--and you never answered, you ungrateful hobbit.” He walked up to Pippin, took his arm, then led him to the washbasin. Merry filled the basin with water from the pitcher, then guided his cousin’s hands into the basin. When Pippin had finished washing, Merry gave him a towel to dry off with and then helped him go through the rest of his morning routine.

The final touch was when Merry tried to comb through Pippin’s thick curls. “Ouch!!” yelled Pippin.

Merry scolded the lad, “Hold still! If you took a comb to your hair every now and then you wouldn’t have this problem. You look like a beggar-child. You ought to take pride in how you look, Pippin. Some lass has probably turned her nose up at you already, looking all scruffy the way you do.” Suddenly, the wheels in Merry’s conniving head began turning. Beggar child…scruffy…

Beggar-child?! “Merry--!”  An angry Pippin abruptly turned to take his cousin to task, but suddenly he was inexplicably touched by Merry’s act of kindness. In a softer voice, he said, “Thank you.”

Merry came out of his thoughts, slowly he smiled. “You’re welcome. Now turn around so I can finish untangling your hair.”

“Merry?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m eleven years old--I don’t care what a lass thinks about my hair--at least not yet.” Pippin felt Merry tousling and mussing his hair up. Putting his hand to his head Pippin felt the wild curls all strewn about as they were before. “Have you finally gone mad, cousin? What are you doing? You know my mother won’t let me eat breakfast unless I look presentable.” Pippin spit in his good hand, hastily smoothing out his hair as his tummy started to grumble.

“Don’t, Pippin--at least not yet,” Merry pulled the lad’s hand down. “Now…let me see…” The elder cousin walked around Pippin, as if sizing him up. “Do you still have those breeches Auntie said you grew out of when I first got here last week?”

“You have gone mad,” said Pippin, following Merry’s voice from one side to the other.

“Have you or not?”

“Yes, they’re in my wardrobe. They were my favourite pair.”

“Do you have any other worn clothes--or better yet, work clothes that are worn through?”

“What are you getting at, Merry?”

“I have a plan for our amusement today.” If devil horns existed in Middle-earth, Merry would be wearing a pair about now. He asked, “Would you like to take a ride with me, Pip?”

The key word for Pippin was amusement…his grin was full of mischief as well, “I have the feeling this is going to be...shall I say, the ride of my life?”

Merry patted his young cousin on the shoulders, “Now you have it!”

The Dwarves stood in a small group, watching as the young hobbit-child sang his little heart out. His threadbare clothes were tattered and ripped at the hems, his hair unkempt. His sweet innocent face looked like it desperately needed a washcloth. The young boy stood in the middle of the road, singing a song so beautiful and melodious; his voice so pleasant. Dwarves rarely stopped for pleasantries while travelling, but the sight of the poor hobbit-child and his older sibling--also wearing tattered garments--charmed their heartstrings.

Pippin easily kept his gaze straight ahead and ignored any sudden movements that would normally catch his eyes. His eyesight still quite blurry from the day before. His older “brother” stood over to the side playing the simple notes of a song on a small flute. When the song was finished, the young boy smiled, taking a bow. Pippin may have been living in a blurry fog, but he certainly wasn’t in darkness. Dramatically, he felt his way over to the wagon where Merry stood and waited. Surely, these prosperous dwarves would offer at least a day’s wages for that performance!

The Dwarves huddled and grumbled for a few minutes then finally produced between all ten of them, two small coins. The lead Dwarf tossed the coins into the upside down hat lying in the road, and then followed the rest of his companions heading westward towards the Blue Mountains.

Merry waited until they were out of earshot then kicked the dirt at his feet. He eyed the Dwarves as they shrank into the distance, “Do you believe that? Only two pennies!”

“My throat is getting dry, Merry.” Pippin stuck out his chin and rubbed his throat. The “star hobbit” gave the hint for his assistant to fetch a mug of cider for him.

“Oh--sorry.” Merry hopped into the back of the wagon, pulling aside the blanket that covered a barrel of cider. As he was filling the mug for Pippin, Merry noticed that the cider…wasn’t cider. He must have grabbed the wrong barrel from inside the dimly lit barn. “Uh…Pippin,” said Merry. “We don’t have any cider.”

“Yes, we do, Merry--stop dawdling and bring me my mug!”

Just to prove his point, Merry filled Pippin’s mug with the heady substance they did have--quite by accident, taking it to his young cousin. “This isn’t cider, I tell you.” He placed the mug handle in Pippin’s good hand.

Unable to make out exactly what he was seeing--or smelling, Pippin took a sip. His jaw dropped, “What happened? You were supposed to bring a barrel of cider!”

“I had to move a couple barrels of beer to get to the cider,” Merry explained. “Try moving one and you’ll know what I’m talking about. I was tired--I thought I grabbed the right one.”

“But I’m so thirsty, Merry. What are we going to do? It’ll take us another hour to get back to Whitwell.”

Merry sighed, “Drink it, I suppose. What else can we do? We’ll just have to make certain you don’t over do it.”

A half-hour later, Pippin emptied his mug, “Ah--my tongue and throat are ready once again!”

“It should!” Merry sat on the back of the wagon draining his own mug. “You drank that mug like a fish in the Brandywine. Now get back to work, you little slacker.”

Pippin asked, “How much have we got?”

“Including the two pennies the Dwarves gave us, we have a bushel of apples, a box of biscuits, and three quarts of strawberries that the Bree-Man gave us. Not too bad.” Merry was quite pleased with himself.

“Merry?”

“What?”

“I’m hungry!” Pippin smirked.

Merry went rummaging around in the back of the wagon, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to help ourselves to a few goodies. After all, we did earn them!” They both laughed.

Before long, they heard faint jingling far down the road. “What is it, Merry?” Pippin asked. He wouldn’t be able to “see” whatever it would be until it was nearly on top of him.

Merry shaded his eyes as he squinted west into the lowering sun, “It looks like a wagon--no, it’s a pony with a cart.”

Pippin could hear the pony’s bridle jingling as the traveller drew near. Always quick to turn a shilling, Pippin started to sing one of old Bilbo’s songs that Frodo had taught him. He suddenly started feel funny--a bit light-headed. He hung onto Merry, trying to control his balance. But then, he thought, being a little off balance might be good for business! Pippin walked unsteadily out into the road and began another sad, mournful song. He recalled Merry’s words from before breakfast that morning; beggar-child, did he say? Pippin dropped to his knees, holding out his hands in a pleading manner, ensuring the bandaged wrist stuck out a little further. This ought to be worth another bushel of apples!

As soon as the single pony came into his view, Merry tried to warn his cousin. “Pippin!” He whispered as loud as his voice would carry without drawing attention to himself, “Pippin--stop!”

Pippin continued putting his whole heart into his song. Ever the thespian, Pippin dramatically stood up, waving his arms in front of himself as he walked forward.

Merry stepped out into the road, tugging at his cousin’s sleeve, “Pippin! Stop!!”

Pippin hesitated only a moment in his song, “Hush, Merry! I’m singing! Go play your pipe!”

Merry just stood there, red faced and embarrassed at their being discovered by the last person he wanted to see.

Gandalf sat in his cart, laden with rockets for Bilbo’s party later in the summer. He casually smoked his long-stemmed pipe and watched the two little hobbits with much interest. He smiled, seeming to nod with approval when Pippin ended his song and took a bow--and almost toppled forward.

Pippin felt his head getting lighter by the minute. He gathered his balance and held his hand out with the saddest, most grief-stricken face he could muster.

Merry rolled his eyes, “You ninny--it’s Gandalf!”

The name of Gandalf still did not immediately register with Pippin. He whispered to his cousin, “Well, what did he give us?” Then it dawned on Pippin to whom Merry was referring. He put his hand to his mouth, “You mean--the Gandalf?”

“The one and only, Master Peregrin,” the Wizard confirmed.

“Hullo, Mr. Gandalf”, Pippin said. The beer made his thinking a bit muddled, though still it was quick. He offered an explanation, “My dear cousin and I…saw you travelling from afar, and…and…thought to welcome you with a song or two--do you wish to hear another?” Merry nervously nodded in agreement.

Gandalf had met Meriadoc on occasion while staying with Frodo at Bag End, deeming the lad quiet and thoughtful. However, the smaller one, Peregrin Took, he had only seen as a very young child or a babe. Being a frequent visitor of the Smials since he met Gerontius over a hundred years before, Gandalf was quite familiar with the lad’s father, Paladin--another mischief-maker from days gone by. He fixed his gaze on the hobbits, “So, you young truants wanted to greet an old Wizard with a song, eh?” Gandalf stepped down from his cart then looked at Pippin, “And no--I want no more songs this afternoon, lads. I am on business to Bag End, thank you.” He narrowed his eyes in thought, taking in the entire scene before him. Then he noticed the wagon, and a blanket conveniently covering something in the front. Then he noticed their clothes. He walked up to them, taking Pippin’s arm and touching the hanging hem of his breeches, “What happened here, Peregrin?”

Pippin answered, “I…we…I mean…” For once in his short life, Pippin found himself at a loss for words.

“Um…,” Merry started to answer, though he had no response forthcoming.

Gandalf asked, “Why don’t I help you lads back home, hmm?”

“No!” Both boys yelled in unison.

Feigning surprise, the wizard inquired, “Why not?”

“Because...,” Merry began, then paused as he desperately tried to think of an alibi.

Pippin took advantage of his cousin’s blank expression and blurted out, “Because we must finish taking food to...to the helpless!” Gandalf’s gaze kept returning the small lad; there was something odd about his behaviour.

“Yes,” Merry piped in excitedly, “Pippin and I were going to deliver everything that’s inside the wagon to poor unfortunate hobbits!” Oh, the tales we weave!

Gandalf noticed several apple cores a few feet away, then uncovered the cask. “You are delivering apple cores and beer to helpless hobbits? No doubt the beer is a necessity.” Perhaps the answer to Peregrin’s odd behaviour lay with the barrel of ale.

The two young con artists looked at each other for answers. None were handy at the moment. Merry thought to offer yet another excuse, but thought why bother? The game was up; they were in deep trouble either way. “It’s time to go back, Pip,” he finally said.

“I should say so,” said Gandalf. “Young hobbit lads ought not to be out in the middle of the road fleecing unsuspecting travellers such as myself.” Then he added with amusement, “I will follow behind you--just in case an unfortunate hobbit happens by and you need assistance in delivering your beer.” Gandalf chuckled--he was thoroughly enjoying this.

Merry took Pippin by the hand, leading him over to the wagon to help him into the seat. He then walked around to the driver’s seat and hauled himself up, snapping the reins.

“It’s just as well, Merry, I’m not feeling too good right now.” Pippin leaned forward and held his head in his hands.

Merry answered, “It’s from all beer and apples you ate.” The wagon, followed by Gandalf’s cart slowly made its way toward Whitwell.