CHAPTER 11

The next morning it was very nearly time for elevenses when Pippin’s stomach woke him. His nose told him that food was being prepared. He followed his nose into the kitchen, where Sam stood over a hot stove.

“Good morning, Mr. Pippin,” said Sam, as he presided over a hot skillet filled with sausages, potatoes and onions.

“ ‘Morning, Sam.” The tweenager’s stomach rumbled, and he laughed. “Smells like first breakfast to me.”

Now it was Sam’s turn to laugh. “This is elevenses, Mr. Pippin.”

“I haven’t eaten yet today,” he replied, “so it’s first breakfast to me.”

“So,” said Frodo’s voice, as he too entered the kitchen, “are you going to be two meals behind all day, or do you plan to eat enough now to catch up?”

“The latter, I think,” replied Pippin airily, as he began to cut bread for toast.

Sam looked up at his master. “Is Mr. Menelcar going to eat with us? Maybe Mr. Pippin should go and wake him up?”

“Not necessary,” said a voice from the doorway. Ducking, Menelcar entered the kitchen, noting the cosy domesticity of the scene. “I am here.” He stood his tall self well out of the way of the three bustling hobbits, and watched in fascination.

Each of them was busy at some task, not even needing to ask what should be done. Sam was busily cooking, Pippin was making toast and setting out the butter crock, the jam jar, and the honey pot. Frodo made tea and then set the table. Menelcar noticed that he set out four places. Aside from Sam’s deferential manner of speech, there was nothing to show that one of these hobbits was the Master of Bag End, one the son of the Thain and one a gardener. In the kitchen, at least, they all appeared to be more or less equal. In fact, it seemed that Frodo and Pippin deferred to Sam as the cook. (“Sam, do you want me to fetch you a dish to serve that up in?” “Yes, thank you, Mr. Frodo. Mr. Pippin could you please go and get the cream?” “Of course, Sam. Do you need anything else from the larder?”)

Menelcar tried and failed, to imagine such a scene in the homes of noblemen in Minas Tirith. In fact, he could not even imagine it at all in any of the lands of men in which he had journeyed. Amazing.

Soon they all sat down to a hearty meal, Menelcar seated upon the floor between Pippin and Sam. He had eaten his fill long before any of the hobbits even began to slow down. Finally, all of the food was gone to the last crumb.

“Menelcar,” said Frodo, “I thought that Pippin might be of some assistance to you today in copying out more of Bilbo’s songs. He knows where the parchment, ink and quills are kept, and he has a neat hand when he takes his time--” he glanced over at his younger cousin, who looked a bit abashed. “so I hope that you will find him useful.”

“Why, thank you, Frodo,” for after a day’s acquaintance, they had soon been on a first name basis, “I will be glad of the help.” He could tell from Pippin’s expression, that this was to be a bit of punishment to Pippin for his poor judgment. But it seemed a light one to him, and he would be glad of the chance to spend more time in the young hobbit’s company.

Sam rose from his chair. “Well, Mr. Frodo, I need to get back out to the garden. Those roses are not going to dead head themselves.”

“Thank you for an excellent meal, Sam. I’ll call you in when luncheon is ready.” He turned to Pippin. “Now, off with you to help Menelcar here, and use your best hand. Leave the clearing up to me; I’m going to start luncheon.”

Menelcar blinked. They had just finished eating, and Frodo was planning to start cooking lunch already?

He and Pippin retreated to the study, and soon had busied themselves with the task of writing out Bilbo’s songs. Pippin took one volume, and Menelcar the other. Occasionally, Pippin would break off, to hum snatches of his favorites. The bard was pleased to discover there were at least three tunes for “Upon the Hearth,” and “The Road Goes Ever On,” and two for “Ho, Ho, Ho to the Bottle I go”. The lad was able to teach him the tunes to most of them in fact.

After lunch they returned to the task, but then broke it off, to fetch their instruments and practice a couple of the songs together. Frodo, who had at first felt a bit put out with himself for giving his study over to them, was enjoying the impromptu concert, and went in to sit and listen. They took tea there in the study.

After tea, they went to The Ivy Bush, for another evening of playing and singing. Word had gone out that the minstrel had returned, and that Mr. Peregrin Took was singing with him. The resulting crowd was gratifying to the innkeeper, and in addition to his usual patrons, there were a number of hobbitesses who came in as well, for the music. The evening became quite jolly, and there was dancing as well, with willing hobbit hands to push the tables back. A few other hobbits who played instruments had brought them along, and Menelcar found himself leading a small band consisting of his harp and Pippin’s fiddle, as well as a flute, a lute, a tambour and a small drum. The flute player was especially good, a lad named Folco, who seemed to be quite a good friend of Frodo’s.

The next four days passed much the same; the musicians alternating the evenings between The Ivy Bush and The Green Dragon, and the crowds were larger each night.

On the second day, Frodo received his reply from Paladin, and Pippin was overjoyed that at last he would be seeing his much-missed cousin Merry.

He danced about the smial in excitement, nearly knocking Frodo over with an enthusiastic hug, and could scarcely be constrained to settle down to an afternoon of copying.

The fourth day, Frodo lent his own neat hand to the task, and shortly before teatime, the last of Bilbo’s verses was transferred to parchment. The resulting stack was quite impressive, and Menelcar was wondering how he was going to stow it. Frodo provided him with a satchel of oilcloth.

“I suggest,” he said, “that when you can, you go to a bookbinder, and have them bound into volumes. They will be much easier to care for that way.”

Menelcar nodded. He didn’t say so, but that would be an expensive proposition. Still, at some point he might have the coin to do that.

They spent the last evening singing and playing at The Green Dragon, to their largest crowd yet.

Menelcar was accompanying Pippin on the harp, as they sang one of Bilbo’s lesser known songs. It was a chilling thing, and somber. It was in a minor key, and in Pippin’s clear voice, it riveted the attention of the listeners.

“There was a man who dwelt alone,
as day and night went past
he sat as still as carven stone,
    and yet no shadow cast.
The white owls perched upon his head
   beneath the winter moon;
They wiped their beaks and thought him dead
   under the stars of June.

There came a lady clad in grey
  in the twilight shining:
One moment she would stand and stay,
    her hair with flowers entwining.
He woke, as had he sprung of stone,
    and broke the spell that bound him;
he clasped her fast, both flesh and bone,
   and wrapped her shadow round him.

At the end of the second verse, Menelcar’s harp fell silent, and Pippin’s voice carried the song on alone.

There never more she walks her ways
  by sun or moon or star;
she dwells below where neither days
    nor any nights there are.
But once a year when caverns yawn
   and hidden things awake,
they dance together then till dawn
   and a single shadow make.(1)

Pippin’s voice trailed off, into a silence that was just as gratifying as applause, and then scarcely giving any time, Menelcar changed the mood with a livelier tune.

Frodo and Sam were standing near the door, scarcely able to see the performance for the crowd, when Frodo heard an unexpected voice behind him. “He really is quite good, isn’t he?”

“Paladin?”

“I heard the rumors. I had to come see for myself. I certainly did not expect this.” His voice was a bit rueful. He was caught between pride at the sight and sound of his radiant son, who with his minstrel friend was the focus of all attention, and irritation at not having been made aware of this ahead of time.

Frodo gestured, and he and Paladin stepped outside.

Menelcar’s and Pippin’s voices followed, singing the jolly strains of “Perry-the-Winkle,” a comic song about a lonesome troll.

“I had planned to come to you after we had been to Buckland. Do you have any idea of what your son was planning to do?”

“Aside from making a spectacle of himself for all the Shire?” Paladin shook his head. “It’s not the kind of behavior I would have expected you to encourage. Merry, maybe, but not you.”

Frodo gave his older cousin the kind of look that Bilbo often had used when he thought others were being particularly dense; with Frodo’s piercing blue eyes it was even more effective.

“Paladin, he had planned to run off with this minstrel. To leave the Shire. It was only by chance I was able to find out and stop him.”

Paladin’s face grew red. “And you let the creature hang about still? Why didn’t you turn him over to the Shirriffs to be escorted *out* of the Shire?”

“Because *he* didn’t do anything wrong. He had no idea, because Pippin did not tell him, that Pip was underage and had no right to do such a thing. Men do not age the same way that hobbits do, so when Pip told him he was twenty-five, he thought the lad was an adult. He was properly appalled when I told him the truth. And he is very fond of Pippin. You know how Pip can do that.”

Paladin breathed hard for a moment, and allowed his temper to pass; in truth, he did know how his son had a knack for wrapping even strangers around his little finger.

Frodo was silent for a second, allowing the Thain to regain his composure, before he spoke again, this time in very solemn tones, “Do you know that Pippin is *frightened* by the idea of becoming Thain?”

“Frightened?” Paladin shook his head. That the lad did not want responsibility was obvious, but fear?

“Let’s walk a bit.”

The two strolled down the darkened street of Bywater, and Frodo repeated Pippin’s confession. When Frodo came to the part where Pippin had finally admitted what was bothering him, Paladin stopped and stared. It had never occurred to him *why* Pippin never seemed to want to talk about his prospects.

“He is terrified of losing you; and he does not understand why you constantly remind him of his future as Thain. To him, it indicates your impatience to be rid of the job.”

Paladin found himself blinking away tears. He’d no idea what had been going on in his son’s head. How could the child have had such a wrong idea?

“I can see that I may have to tell him some things that I had rather not.” He sighed. The two hobbits turned, and listened to a sudden burst of laughter coming from the inn.

“I’d like to go back and listen some more; I don’t often get a chance to hear him like this.”

“Will you come back to Bag End with us tonight?”

“No, I don’t think so. I will stay here tonight, and go back to Tuckborough in the morning. Don’t disturb Peregrin with news of my presence. He can have a nice long visit with Merry, and by the time he comes home, perhaps I will know what to say to him.”

Frodo nodded, and they returned to The Dragon. Paladin kept himself toward the back of the crowd, well out of his son’s line of sight, and listened in amazement and pride.

The two singers had begun a rather silly children’s song Menelcar had learned in Dale. It was one he thought that hobbits would appreciate.

“There was a farmer, lived in a dell,
Hey ho, to the dairy we go!
He took a wife, her name was Nell.
Hey ho, to the dairy we go!
His wife she had a wee little lad,
Hey ho, to the dairy we go!
Sometimes he was good, sometimes he was bad.
Hey ho, to the dairy we go!” (2)

The song continued on its merry way through any number of characters, and several of the hobbits had begun to dance to the jolly tune.

Frodo had not noticed when the Thain had slipped away; he turned to look, and Paladin was gone. But he was glad that Pippin’s father had got a chance to see and hear his son at his best.

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The next morning they awakened early. In spite of a late night, and very little sleep, Pippin, Menelcar and Frodo were eager to be on their way. Frodo had hired ponies, and they planned to spend the night at The Floating Log in Frogmorton. Since word had gone out ahead of them, there was likely to be quite a crowd there that night.

The evening there was a great success, and the innkeeper tried to persuade them to stay one more night, but they insisted they needed to be on their way, and right after first breakfast they headed on their way. Frodo was eager to get to Brandy Hall, so they decided to take a little used track that cut to the south, and joined the Stock road near Woodhall. From there they would make their way to Bucklebury.

It was mid-afternoon when they approached the location of the ferry. Pippin saw a group of hobbits busy with construction work around the dock there on the western bank, and as soon as he spotted the sun glinting golden off a set of sandy curls, he urged his pony into a gallop.

Hearing the sound of swift hooves, Merry glanced up, to see Pippin bearing down, and his face lit up into a grin. Pippin pulled the pony to a stop and fairly flew from its back and into his cousin’s arms.

“Merry!” he crowed.

“Pip!” cried Merry, laughing and breathless, as they hugged and pounded one another on the back. “What in the world are you doing here? I thought Uncle said you couldn’t come!”

Frodo and Menelcar had trotted up almost unnoticed. “I’m afraid that’s my doing, cousin.” He, too, got down from the pony and joined in the hug.

“Well, I don’t know how you did it, Fro, but bless you!”

Menelcar looked on, feeling a bit like an intruder; but Pippin pulled away from Merry and went over. “Come *on*, Menelcar! I want you to meet my Merry!”

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(1) From The Tolkien Reader, “The Adventures of Tom Bombadil”, poem #13, “The Shadow Bride”

(2) Adapted from the well known children’s game, “The Farmer in the Dell”