CHAPTER 7

Frodo put the tea-kettle on, and cut some ham and cheese sandwiches before calling out the kitchen window “Sam, come join me for elevenses!”

“Give me just a moment, Mr. Frodo, to finish tying up these cucumber vines, and I’ll be right there.”

Sam stopped at the small pump by the kitchen door to wash his hands. “We’re going to have a lot of cucumbers this year. Do you want me to find out if my sister May will put you up some pickles?”

Frodo nodded. “The usual arrangement, Sam. She can keep half of whatever she puts up for me.” He took a sip of tea. “What’s the news in Hobbiton these days.?”

“There was one of the Big Folk--a Man--up to The Ivy Bush last night, singing and playing the harp. Said he was a minstrel or some such thing. The Gaffer was all full of it when he came home.” Sam took a bite of sandwich, and drank some tea before continuing. “The gaffer said as how he was asking after you. And he sang one of old Mr. Bilbo’s songs, one of those about the Man in the Moon.”

Frodo’s heart gave a lurch. Could this Man have a letter for him from Bilbo? They were few and far between, but why else would he be looking for Frodo?

Sam noticed the expression in his master’s eyes. “Do you think he might have word of Mr. Bilbo, Mr. Frodo?”

“I don’t know, Sam. I can only hope. But if he was asking after me, he’ll soon turn up here. Everyone knows where I am.”

“Aye, they do that. Well, I’d best be getting back to the garden, Mr. Frodo. Thanks for the elevenses.”

Frodo cleaned up the kitchen, and then went out to the bench by the front door to read his post. He’d a letter from Buckland this morning, and he wanted to see what Merry had to say. Their visit this spring had been very short.

Dear Frodo,

I am so frustrated by this abominable ferry I’m not sure which way is up and which way down. It’s all I can think about, and the more I think about it, the more disturbed I get. Da has offered to let me out of the job, but I can’t let it get the best of me.

I miss you, and I miss Pippin.

I have a bad feeling about Pip. You know how short his letters are, and his last two have been even shorter than normal. He’s bored out of his mind this summer, I can tell, and you know how dangerous it is to let Pip get bored. Da asked Uncle Paladin to send him over for a visit--he thought it would be a help to get my mind off my troubles with the ferry, but Uncle Paladin thinks Pippin would be a nuisance for me while I am trying to get this done. As if Pip would ever be a nuisance! (Although I might tell him he is--but that’s different, as you know.)

Maybe you can get Uncle Paladin to let Pip come for another visit to Bag End, since he won’t let him come to Buckland right now. I know Uncle respects you and thinks you are a steadying influence on Pippin.

Anyway, maybe it is just my imagination. Maybe Pip’s just fine.

If I get finished with this mess by the end of the first week of Afterlithe, I will try to come myself.

I just realized this letter makes me sound very sorry for myself. I haven’t even asked after you. Please let me know if all is well with you, and give my regards to Samwise.

Your loving cousin,
Merry

Frodo re-read the letter, and then folded it carefully and put it in his pocket. He took out his pipe for a smoke. Poor Merry! Coming of age was not always as wonderful as young hobbits thought it was going to be, as he well knew. And he did not dismiss Merry’s unsettled feelings about Pippin, either. He had noticed himself before Pippin left Bag End that the lad was getting bored more easily than usual, and put it down to Merry’s absence.

His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of footsteps at the gate to the path, and he looked up. Indeed, there was a Man, one of the Big Folk, coming towards him. He stood up.

He watched the Man approach. He was not so tall as Gandalf. He wore no beard, and looked to be in his middle-age.

Menelcar stopped before him. “Do I have the honor of addressing Master Frodo Baggins?” At Frodo’s nod, he made an elaborate bow. “Menelcar the Minstrel at your service, Master Baggins.”

Frodo returned his bow politely. “I am most pleased to meet you, Master Menelcar. Would you care to sit out here, or would you like to come into the smial?”

“If we could go in, I would appreciate it very much.”

Frodo led the way into the front room. Menelcar followed carefully. The ceilings at Bag End were not so high as the ceilings in the inns. Frodo took a seat in the armchair by the fireplace, and Menelcar, as had become his habit since entering the Shire, took a seat upon the floor, folding his long legs up like a tailor.

“May I offer you anything to eat or drink?” asked Frodo, ever the polite host.

“No, I thank you.”

“I have been told,” said Frodo, “that you had been asking after me in The Ivy Bush last night.”

Menelcar nodded. “Indeed. I am trying to find out information about a halfling--that is, hobbit--named Bilbo Baggins, and was told that you were close kin to him, and knew him well.”

Frodo raised his brow in surprise. “He was my guardian and dear friend as well as my cousin, though I grew up calling him ‘uncle’. But why are you asking about Bilbo? He has been gone from the Shire for nearly fourteen years!”

“When I was in Dale,” said the minstrel thoughtfully, “I began to encounter songs that I had never heard before. Many of them were different in a way that is difficult to describe. Although I was hearing them sung by Dwarves or Men, they did not sound Dwarven, nor like any kind of Man I had thus far encountered. Yet they most *certainly* were not Elven. One never forgets the sound of Elven songs, and they are nearly all of them melancholy. I also began to hear tales of a person, one of the Little Folk, whom we in the south had thought of as a legend, halflings we called them, or pheriannath.”

Frodo nodded. The word had Elven roots.

“As I traveled west, I found that some of these songs preceded me, and learned that the land of the halflings was called the Shire. I tried to make my way here from Bree, but was discouraged--” he paused. He did not think he ought to mention those mysterious Rangers who seemed to be guarding this little land, and who had tried to turn him back. “so I made my way south, and came in by way of Sarn Ford, and spent a few weeks in the South Farthing. When I was in Tuckborough, I learned that the name of my song-writing hobbit was Bilbo Baggins, the same as the name of the hobbit in the stories. Did he really confront the Dragon Smaug?”

“Indeed, he did,” said Frodo. “He was quite pleased with himself at the time.” Frodo smiled as he remembered the smug look Bilbo would get when he described his riddling encounter with the huge beast. “You know, Bilbo would be pleased to no end to find that his songs have spread so far. I have a great many of them which he had written out, which remained here when he left. Excuse me a moment.”

Frodo went from the front room to the study, and returned with two thick volumes under his arm which he handed to Menelcar.

The bard’s face lit up with pleasure as he skimmed through the pages. There--there were the songs about the Man in the Moon. The one he was familiar with, another longer one, full of extravagant language, and five other shorter, humorous ones. So Pippin had not been exaggerating! And here--here was one featuring riddles which he had apparently heard only a portion of. His face grew rapt as he read.

Frodo moved next to him to point out something, and they spent quite some time going through each volume.

“May I copy some of these, Master Baggins?” he finally asked.

“Certainly.” Frodo brought him parchment, ink and quill, and left him to go and prepare some tea and sandwiches, which the Man took thankfully, but without stopping his self-appointed task.

Finally he looked up with a sigh. “I shall have to quit, now. I need to go into Bywater, as I plan to go to The Green Dragon tonight.” He stood up carefully, his knees popping. “I can’t tell you, Master Baggins, how much it has meant to me to find the source of so many of these songs. And to think that the same Bilbo Baggins who braved the Dragon Smaug is the same one who wrote them. He must have been a remarkable person.”

Frodo shook his head. “He *is* a remarkable person.”

Menelcar felt surprise. “You think he yet lives? But that would make him--”

“Nearly one hundred and twenty five years old. Although my last letter from him was about three years ago, he seemed as lively as ever in it. I believe I would know if he were dead.”

Menelcar was not as skeptical as he once would have been. So far as he could tell, this seeming youth who sat before him was somewhere in his forties, if all he’d learned was true.

Frodo smiled. “It would please me if you would accept the hospitality of Bag End tonight. I have a room that has a bed that is of a size to accommodate you Big Folk.”

This was pleasant news. Sleeping on the ground beneath the stars was all very well and good, but he was not one to turn down a real bed when it was offered.

“I would be glad to accept. However, I may be very late in returning. Not only do I intend to play at The Green Dragon tonight, but I am also to meet someone there. There’s a young hobbit who is of a mind to travel with me and try the life of a bard. I met him in Tuckborough. He sings very sweetly, and plays the fiddle more than passably well, so I agreed. He’s to meet me there tonight if he’s still of a mind to go.”

Frodo’s face went very, very still. He stared at the minstrel for a moment. “This hobbit, was he about so high--” he held his hand up and out to the side, “--with chestnut curls and big green eyes and a mischievous grin that can get him just about anything he wants?”

Menelcar laughed. “That’s him exactly! I take it you know him?”

“Know him? My dear Master Menelcar, it’s my cousin Pip, and I tell you now, it would be most unwise of you to take him out of the Shire!”

Now it was Menelcar’s turn to go very still. “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

“Well,” said Frodo, “first of all, he is underage.”

The Man felt alarmed. “He told me he was twenty-five, and the innkeeper vouched for it!”

“Why, yes, he is! But coming of age in the Shire is thirty-three! Pip is only what we call a ‘tweenager’.”

Suddenly the light dawned. He had thought when he met the lad that he only looked to be about fifteen or sixteen, and now he realized he had not been that far off the mark in terms of actual maturity. Still, that was not too young to be an apprentice--

Frodo broke into his thoughts. “But there is an even more pressing reason you should not allow him to go with you. Pippin is Peregrin Took, the only son and heir of the Thain, Paladin Took!”

The blood drained from Menelcar’s face. He’d only been in the Shire a few weeks, but even he had learned that the Thain was the Shire’s equivalent of the lord of the land.

“Oh my word! What am I to do? I promised to meet him tonight!”

Frodo leaned forward silently, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed, as he thought the problem out.

“Go ahead. Go to The Green Dragon and meet him. Find a table and make sure he is *not* facing the door. I’ll come in and handle it from there. And please, I hope you will still accept my hospitality.”

“Thank you, Master Baggins!” Menelcar suddenly felt as though he had been rescued from a grave disaster.

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