Written for Marigold's Challenge #14

AUTHOR’S NOTES: In this story, Frodo is 30, Sam, Fatty, Folco and Tom are all about 18, Merry and Jolly are 16, Nick is 14, Nibs is  9, and Pippin is almost 8 ( Or 19, 12, 10, 8 and a half, 6, and 5 in Man years.)

MARIGOLD’S STARTER: At least some of it must take place in a waggon or coach between Buckland and Tookland.

ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS ASK…

On the lawn in front of Bag End, four young hobbits were arrayed. Folco Boffin was, as usual, playing on his wooden flute; his friend Fatty Bolger was happy to simply sprawl on the grass and digest his luncheon. Merry Brandybuck and Samwise Gamgee sat nearby, playing at Stones.

Fatty’s father, Odovocar, had come to see Bilbo on business, and as he was using the coach and knew that Merry was there for his annual spring visit, he had brought the two lads along. It was a Highday afternoon, an afternoon of rest for working hobbits, so Sam was free of toil. But Bilbo had asked Frodo, who was very nearly of age--he’d be thirty-one on his next birthday--to sit in on the business discussions.

And Pippin was down for a nap. Merry had been more pleased than he could say that his beloved younger cousin had finally been allowed to make a visit on his own to Bag End while he was there. True, they were only allowing Pippin to stay three weeks instead of the month and half to two months that Merry usually stayed. And Aunt Tina had been very emphatic about some things: “Be very careful about how many sweets you allow him to have if you hope for the visit to end with your hole still standing. Don’t let him stay up too late. Don’t let him get chilled. Make sure he takes his tonic every day. And he should also take a nap every day after luncheon.” There had been a good many more instructions, all repeated several times for emphasis, before Paladin was able to get her in the pony-trap for their return to Whitwell.

Sam was showing Merry how to catch five stones on the back of the hand, when the children’s attention was caught by the rumble of a waggon approaching and stopping before the gate. The lads jumped up and ran down the path to the road. A sturdy, weatherbeaten hobbit with a jolly face was driving the rig, and in the back of the waggon were four hobbit lads.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Cotton,” chorused Merry and Sam politely.

“ ‘Afternoon, Sammy, Master Merry,” he replied, looking curiously at Fatty and Folco.

Merry did the honors. “Mr. Cotton, this is Fredegar Bolger; he is my third cousin on our mothers’ sides, and he is Frodo’s second cousin once removed. And this is Folco Boffin. He is Frodo’s first cousin once removed on the Baggins side.”

Fatty made a polite bow. “At your service, Mr. Cotton.” He glanced at Folco who was staring at the lads, and poked him with an elbow.

Folco gave a start, blushed and bowed. “At your service,” he said.

The farmer suppressed a smile. “At yours and your families’, young sirs. These are my sons, Tom, Jolly, Nick and Nibs.” The young hobbits in the back gave brief, somewhat abashed, nods.

“Sam,” said the farmer, “I come up to bring some tools to the blacksmith to be fixed. I left Rosie off at your hole to play with Marigold, and spoke to your Gaffer. I thought mayhap you lads might like to come along for a visit with mine. I’m picking Rosie up, and the tools, after teatime, and can bring you back then. Your friends are welcome to come along too.”

Sam’s face lit up, but he looked at Merry. He’d not go off and leave him. Merry shot a glance at Fatty and Folco. Fatty smiled and nodded; Folco just shrugged.

Merry grinned. “That sounds splendid, Mr. Cotton. But I will have to ask permission of my Cousin Bilbo, first.”

“Well, you run up and ask. We’ll wait right here.”

Merry dashed up the path to Bag End. Entering the smial, he turned and stood in the doorway to the front room. Bilbo and Odovocar were talking. Frodo was sitting there with a very wide awake Pippin on his knee. The young Took was fidgeting and playing with Frodo’s buttons. Merry was not at all surprised to see his cousin awake, but was mildly astonished that he was not tearing around the hole wreaking havoc.

For although Bilbo had been fairly firm in the matter of bedtimes and tonics, all Pippin had to do in the matter of sweets was to widen the big green eyes and tremble the lower lip, and the elderly Baggins relented almost immediately. There had, so far that day, been extra honey on the griddlecakes at first breakfast, extra jam on the scones at second breakfast, gingersnaps and a cup of warm milk with honey at elevenses, and strawberry tarts at luncheon. He watched Pippin squirm a bit, and Frodo pulled the lad closer, hoping to calm him with cuddles. But Merry knew that even Frodo’s legendary calming influence over their little cousin would not be enough after that many sweets. He cleared his throat to get their attention.

“Excuse me, please, Cousin Bilbo.”

“Yes, Merry-lad? Is there a problem?”

Merry noticed that Pippin had increased his wriggling in Frodo’s grasp. He braced himself.

“No, sir. But Farmer Cotton has invited us all to go to his home and play with his lads this afternoon--” He gave an “oof!” as Pippin, finally slipping out of Frodo’s arms, plowed into him, hugging him as if he had not seen him for days, instead of only since luncheon.

“Well, I think that sounds like a wonderful plan, don’t you, Odovocar?” said Bilbo.

Odovocar pursed his lips. No doubt his wife ,Rosamunda, would not be happy at the thought of their Fredegar spending time with a farmer’s children, but he could not see the harm in it. He nodded.

Pippin was vibrating like a fiddle string, and only Merry’s firm hand on his shoulder kept him from hopping up and down.

Bilbo looked at them with a twinkle. “I do not believe that young Peregrin is at all sleepy this afternoon. Why don’t you take him along as well?”

Merry looked at the relief in Frodo’s blue eyes and grinned. With a whole farm to run about on, Pippin could easily get rid of some of his excess energy. “Certainly, Cousin Bilbo!”

Now Pippin *did* start bouncing up and down. “Oh glory! Merry are they nice lads? How many are there? Can--”

Merry quieted him by the simple expedient of a gentle hand over his mouth. “Go and get your jacket and your scarf, Pip.” Pippin shot away at once.

In only a few moments, Merry came down the path, Pippin’s hand in his, as he skipped next to Merry. Merry looked up at the farmer. “This is my little cousin, Peregrin Took. Everybody calls him Pippin.”

Normally Pippin had enough manners to acknowledge an introduction properly, but he was far too excited now. “Hullo. My father is a farmer too!”

Old Tom Cotton suppressed a laugh. He knew of Pippin’s father. Paladin Took might be a farmer strictly speaking, but he had a mort of other folk to do most of the work. And everybody knew he was in line to be Thain, unless by some miracle old Ferumbras should wed and have children. No one really looked to that happening now. “Well, now, lad, isn’t that interesting? Hop in now, and make the acquaintance of my sons.”

Soon Sam, Merry, Pippin, Fatty and Folco had all clambered into the back. It had become a bit crowded, so Merry took Pippin on his lap.

Sam and Tom were soon chattering away. Tom was Sam’s closest friend of his own age. Nibs was looking curiously at Pippin.

“He’s just a faunt, ain’t he?” His brother Nick kicked him in the shins.

Pippin looked highly indignant. “I am not! I’m eight!” Merry squeezed him. “Well, I’ll be eight on my birthday next month.”

“Oh,” said Nibs, rubbing his leg, “that’s all right, then.” But he looked at Pippin in surprise. Nibs was only a year older, but he was a good head and half taller, and he outweighed the  Took lad by a good deal as well.

Pretty soon Pippin began to sing. That was, after all what he did when he rode in the waggon with his own family.

“Robbity, robbity robin
Goes bobbity, bobbity bobbin’
He’s hoppity, hoppity hoppin’
Along, along, along!”

This was a familiar Shire nursery song, and soon all the lads joined in.

“A hobbity, hobbity hobbit
Hears robbity, robbity robin
Throbbity, throbbity throbbin’
A song, a song, a song!”

Old Tom smiled to hear it. His smile faded, though when the song ended, and the next one began.

“One hundred apple pies, cooling on the sill,
Snatch one down
To eat our fill.
Pass it around,
No need to fight--
Everybody has a bite!”

The farmer winced. He was glad the ride to the farm would be a short one. This was the song most dreaded by every Shire parent on a journey with children.

“Ninety-nine apple pies, cooling on the sill
Snatch one down
To eat our fill.
Pass it around,
No need to fight--
Everybody has a bite!
Ninety-eight apple pies…”

He was beginning to feel a bit desperate as they pulled into the lane leading down to  the farmhouse.

“ Twenty-seven apple pies, cooling on the sill
Snatch one down--”

“Oh, we’re home!” shouted Jolly, breaking off the song. The lads began to chatter, as Tom and Jolly thought of things they could do with their afternoon of freedom and unaccustomed playmates.

Lily Cotton left off hanging the wash on the line and went over to greet her family, and be introduced to the young guests.

Tom went into the  house, and fetched a ball. Lily gestured to Jolly and Nick to come in for a moment as well, and sent them back out with two good sized jugs of cold fruit tea.

Jolly spoke up. “Ma said that it ‘d be a good idea to go to the north pasture to play. We can put the jugs in the brook to keep cool.”

This was considered a good idea, and the lads headed in that direction, sometimes walking, sometimes running, sometimes balancing on the fence rail, and sometimes stopping to look at an interesting bug or rock. Pippin kept racing ahead and then running back. Tom watched in fascination. “Doesn’t he ever get tired?”

“Not,” said Merry, “when he’s been eating sweets.”

“Oh.”

The next time Pippin did that, Sam swept him up as he ran back, and plunked him down atop his own sturdy shoulders. “You just ride up there for a while now, Master Pippin.” Pippin squealed in delight.

Merry sighed. Although he still forgot sometimes, Sam’s Gaffer had told him that this year he had to start saying “Mr. Merry” and “Master Pippin”; that he was too old to be calling the gentry by their first names only anymore. It made Merry feel sad, but he did not want Sam to get in trouble with his father, so he put up with it. But when Sam did forget, Merry was glad. He wished Sam’s father was not so proper all the time. He was afraid it was going to make Sam all proper and boring. He was afraid maybe they wouldn’t be able to be friends much longer.

He forgot his gloomy thoughts though, when Jolly Cotton tagged him from the back and kept running, yelling “Race you!” Merry took off, and soon caught up, and then passed him, as they approached the north pasture.

It was covered in clover and wildflowers, and there was a small brook running through one corner. A wooded copse stood to the east, just beyond the fence; to the south was a field of potatoes, and the lane ran alongside the fence on the west. The north edge of the pasture was bounded by a long, thick bramble hedge.

“What’s on the other side of the hedge?” Merry asked Tom, as Sam put Pippin down and all the younger lads ran in the direction of the stream to put the jugs in to keep cool.

Sam and Tom exchanged a glance, and Tom replied “That’s old Farmer Harfoot’s place. You want to stay away from there.”

Merry looked alarmed. “Why? Does he keep dogs?”

“No, but he chased Jolly with a rake one time, and he wasn’t even on his property. All he was doing was picking blackberries on the fence-line by the lane!”

“Well,” said Fatty, “it looks like you’ve plenty of blackberries on this side of the hedge.” He looked hopeful. He really liked blackberries.

Sam shook his head. “Not this time of year, Mr. Freddy. They’ll not be ripe for some weeks yet. See how many blossoms are still there? It’ll be nigh onto summer before they really start to ripen.” Fatty’s face fell.

The lads were soon sprawled in the soft clover, chatting of different things and getting to know one another. Except for Pippin, who had used Merry’s stomach to bounce on, until Merry finally rolled him off. “Enough, Pip, or I’ll tickle.” This threat sent the youngest in Sam’s direction.

“Don’t even think about it, Master Pippin,” Sam said firmly. Pippin’s eyes widened, and he looked a bit taken aback at this. Then Pippin eyed Fatty’s ample middle. In self-defense, Fatty rolled over without saying a word. Folco sat up, also putting his stomach off limits.

Merry cast an eye in Pippin’s direction. Pippin was showing off for the new lads, he thought. Well, let him have something to show.

“Pippin, let’s see that trick that Vinca taught you.”

Pippin’s face lit up. “All right!” He plopped himself down on the ground, and folding his legs up tailor-fashion, he put his face in his lap between his knees, and wrapped his arms around them so that he was all tucked up in a ball like a hedgehog. Then he rocked back and forth a few times, until he began to move. He rolled about like a ball.

The Cotton lads watched him with amazement. “Ooh!” exclaimed Nibs. “I want to try that!” He sat down and tried to tuck himself up the same way, but did not have much success.

Pippin uncurled himself and went over to watch critically. “Here, put your face down a little more. And move your hands closer together. Put your fingers together.”

Pretty soon Nibs and Nick as well were also rolling about. Pippin had gone on to demonstrate handsprings and cartwheels as well.

“Where does he get all that?” asked Jolly.

“He’s got three big sisters. They taught him how to do those tricks. It keeps him busy. Otherwise he’d wear them out watching him.” answered Merry. “He has a lot of energy.”

“Aye,” said Tom. “I can see that.” He rolled over and looked at Sam. “I brought the ball. Why don’t we play kick-the-ball?”

This idea met with general approval, except for Fatty, who merely looked resigned. He was not especially good at playing ball.

Tom sent Nibs down to fetch one of the jugs of tea, and they passed it around while sorting out the teams. Sam was captain of one and Tom of the other. It was decided that the easiest thing would be for Sam and his friends to be one team, and the Cottons would be the other.

Folco eyed Pippin askance. “I don’t know, Sam. Isn’t he too little to play?”

Pippin’s face flamed with hurt and anger. “I’m *not* too little! I’m *not*!”

But Folco just looked down at him and said, “He might get hurt, you know.”

Merry was torn. On the one hand it, Folco was right--Pippin could get hurt. On the other hand, his feelings were already hurt, and it wouldn’t do to have him feeling left out. Merry could see the green eyes filling with tears already. Trust Folco to point out the obvious in the least tactful way possible. He gave a look to Sam, wondering what to say, when Fatty spoke up.

“Come on, Pippin, let’s you and I be the bounders! I can’t run nearly as fast as you! And I‘m taller. Between the two of us we should do fine!”

Merry and Sam grinned at each other. Good old Fatty! It was like him to come up with the perfect solution after Folco had put his furry foot in his mouth again. Fatty and Pippin would be on the very edge of play, watching for the ball to go out of bounds and return it to play if it did, but as that almost never happened, it was the ideal position for one who was not good at games. Merry gave his Bolger cousin a grateful smile. Fatty just chuckled. He always volunteered to play bounder when he couldn’t get out of playing altogether, and Pippin was too young to realize it was not an important position.

_______________________________________________________

The game was tied. Over by the hedge, Pippin, who at first had watched eagerly for the ball to come his way, was now pre-occupied picking wildflowers. Fatty, who welcomed the boredom, was thinking about the story Bilbo had told them at luncheon, under his father’s disapproving eye, about the Elves, and how some of them had travelled over the Sea, while others had lingered behind. He wondered why so many had decided to stay then, but it seemed now were eager to leave. He heard a shout, and glanced up at the game. Merry had rolled, and Jolly had kicked--hard.

The ball sailed higher and higher. Fatty and Pippin both realized it was coming in their direction and ran together, but they hadn’t a hope of catching it. It kept going, up, up and over the hedge. There was a tall oak tree on the other side, and the ball neatly wedged in its branches, perfectly visible, and completely out of reach.

“Well, Jolly,” said Tom in disgust “look what you’ve done now!”

The lads from both teams all ran together, and then craned their necks to look up at the ball.

“You know,” said Folco thoughtfully “I guess that’s the reason the ball is supposed to stay on the ground.” This matter of fact observation earned him a glare from all the Cotton lads, and an elbow in the ribs from Fatty, who was all too used to Folco’s unfortunate habit of blurting out the first thing that came into his head.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t suppose there is any way we could throw something up there and dislodge it?”

“I don’t think that would work, Sam,” said Merry. “We might be able to dislodge it, but if we did, it would just fall down on that side of the hedge.” Merry was mindful of what Tom had said about Farmer Harfoot.

Tom sighed. “I suppose there’s nothing for it but to tell our dad. Maybe he can talk to Farmer Harfoot.” But he sounded doubtful. What a shame it was, too. That ball had been a gift from his Uncle Wil, on Wil’s last birthday.

Merry glanced down at his side, suddenly alarmed that he felt no presence there.

“Where’s Pippin?”

___________________________________________

Pippin had watched the ball land in the tree. Well, he was a bounder; it was his job to get it. He glanced at the hedge. There were several spots he could have crawled through, but for all the briars. While the older lads discussed the problem in the middle of the field, he trotted along, parallel to the hedge towards the lane. He crawled under the lowest fence rail, where the hedge met the fence as it ran along the lane, and crept to the other side.

Eb Harfoot sat on a bench in front of the small cottage that served him instead of a smial, sharpening a hoe. All afternoon, he’d listened to those confounded Cotton children and their friends racketing around in the field. Why their father didn’t have them busy working was beyond him. Just because it was Highday didn’t mean there weren’t chores as needed doing. He had heard the thump, and looked up to see the ball in the tree. Good, he thought. They’ve lost their ball. Maybe they will leave and take all their noise with them.

“Hullo!”

He looked up with a start to see a very small hobbit standing on the bottom rail of the fence. He’d never seen this one before. He scowled. This one was awful young; looked like the bigger ones had sent a baby to do their dirty work.

“Our ball is in your tree. Could we have it back, please?”

Oh listen to him, thought the farmer. Butter wouldn’t melt in his little mouth. He looked at the ball, a good fifteen feet above the ground, and then gave a sarcastic smirk. “Help yourself.” He knew that was impossible. Next thing, the lad would be crying.

“Oh! Thank you!” Pippin darted under the fence and raced over to the tree.

_______________________________________________________

Merry cast his eye about the field. “Pippin! Pip!”

The others had begun to call out as well. Merry looked once more at the ball in the tree, and suddenly he realized where Pippin had gone. He raced towards the lane. Sam was right on his heels, and the other lads were following close behind.

Merry’s thoughts were grim. That farmer had better *not* be chasing his Pippin with a rake--

Eight hobbit lads skidded to a stop in the lane in front of the cottage. They could see the old farmer, hands on hips, staring up the tree with an unreadable expression.

Pippin was ten feet up and still climbing. “Pippin!” Merry yelled, feeling panicked.

“Oh, hullo, Merry! I’ll have the ball back in just a minute!” his little cousin yelled back.

Merry was white as he glared at the farmer. “My cousin had better not hurt himself!”

Eb Harfoot looked over at the new arrivals. There were several lads there besides the Cottons’ sons. The only one he recognized was Ham Gamgee’s lad. He spat, and looked at Merry’s angry and frightened face. “Your cousin, eh? And who might you be?”

But Merry’s attention was once more on Pippin; as many times as he had seen his little cousin climb trees, it still made his heart pound. Usually Pippin did not go so high up without Frodo.

Sam looked at the farmer. “That there is Mr. Merry Brandybuck--he’s the grandson of the Master of Buckland. And that little lad you’ve let climb up there--that’s Master Peregrin Took, the son of Mr. Paladin Took.” Sam knew exactly how to deliver those names to make the greatest impact.

“I hope he doesn’t fall and break something,” said Folco cheerfully. “It’s an awful long way up there. I wonder how he does that?”

Now it was the old hobbit’s turn to go pale. He had thought it funny when the child had started up the tree like a squirrel, and then he figured the lad would get up there and need to be fetched down with a ladder. It would have been a chance to march all the children back to the Cottons’ and deliver a lecture on how they should keep a better eye on their young ones, and how children should be seen and not heard. But if that little one was a Took--his thoughts suddenly became rather profane as he realized the trouble he’d be in should the child get hurt on his property.

“I’ve got it!” crowed Pippin. “But I can’t climb down carrying it. Somebody needs to catch it. Merry?”

Merry’s voice caught in his throat. He could not move. Sam looked at him with concern, forgetting the honorific in his worry, he touched his friend’s arm. “Merry, are you all right?” Merry just nodded. He could no more take his eyes off Pippin than he could fly.

Fatty walked over a few steps to the gate and then went to the foot of the tree. “Here, Pippin. I should catch it, as I was bounder, too.”

“Good,” said Pippin, and dropping the ball down to Fatty’s waiting arms, he then made his descent, as nimble as always. He dropped the last few feet to the ground, and walked over to the stunned farmer.

“Thank you very much,” he said, giving him a hug around the legs, and looking up at him with a wide grin.

The farmer looked down into the guileless green eyes and the shining face, and his own dour face cracked into an unaccustomed smile. He ruffled the mop of chestnut curls, and said, “I’m sure you’re welcome, little Master.”

Then Pippin raced to the lane, and ducking under the fence once more, was gathered into Merry’s trembling arms. Fatty, carrying the ball, made his more sedate way to the gate, also taking a moment to murmur his thanks to the surprised Farmer Harfoot.

Merry’s planned reproaches died on his lips as Pippin laughed. “I was a good bounder, wasn’t I? I got the ball back!”

“Yes, Pip, yes you did.”

The Cotton lads all had rather astounded expressions on their faces. “Did you see that? He smiled!” said Tom. “I’ve *never* seen old Farmer Harfoot smile!”

Jolly looked at Pippin. “How did you do that? How did you make him let you get the ball?”

“Oh, I just asked.”

“I think,” said Sam, “that we had better head back to your place, Tom. It’ll be nigh on to teatime when we get there anyway.”

Merry was trying to carry Pippin, but Pippin squirmed. He was having none of that, so Merry put him down reluctantly. Pippin darted away, and began chatting to Nibs. Sam walked up behind him. “He’s just fine, Mr. Merry. You can stop worrying now.”

Merry sighed. The color had begun to come back to his face. “I can’t help it, Sam. He does something like that, and I can just *see* him falling and getting badly hurt.”

“But he didn’t. And look, Mr. Merry! He’s so proud of himself for getting the ball back!”

Now Merry grinned, fully recovered from his fright. “As well he should be!”

__________________________________________________

Mrs. Cotton gave the lads bread and butter sandwiches and cold boiled eggs and their choice of tea or cold buttermilk, and they all had a lovely tea in the big kitchen. The benches were crowded, and Nibs and Pippin sat on the table. If Pippin was disappointed that there was no jam or honey, he was too polite to say so.

Afterward, Mr. Cotton hitched up the waggon again, and all the lads piled into the back, and Mrs. Cotton came along for the ride as well, seated next to her husband.

They had not gone far before Nibs voice took up the song:

“One hundred apple pies, cooling on the sill…”

Tolman and Lily looked at one another and rolled their eyes, cringing.

“Snatch one down…” Several more voices joined in.

But for once, Pippin was not singing. Tucked drowsily up in Merry’s lap, he had soon fallen fast asleep.