Mersday* had always been the chief baking day at Bag End; Frodo usually looked forward to a morning spent in his kitchen, kneading dough, mixing up seedcakes and other treats. It was an especially nice activity on a cold morning in late Solmath*. The kitchen was warm and toasty and filled with the lovely smells of baking. In the back of the smial he could hear Marigold Gamgee humming as she changed linens and gathered the laundry, for Mersday was also the day that she came in to do what cleaning Frodo did not handle for himself. Just then there was a knock on the front door. A rather loud and persistent one. Frodo wondered who it could be, as he was expecting no company right now. He rolled his eyes, and hoped it was not Lobelia. He held his breath a moment, and then heard Marigold call “I’ll get it, Mr. Frodo!” Good! He had begun to understand why Bilbo always had someone else answer his door if he could manage it.

He listened as she threw open the door.

“Hullo, Marigold!” said a familiar and wholly unexpected voice.

“Why, it’s Master Pippin! You must be frozen, sir! Do come in! Mr. Frodo?” she called.

Frodo grabbed a towel and quickly wiped the flour from his hands, and made his way to the front hall. “Peregrin! You mad Took! What *are* you doing here, and in such weather, too?” He reached out to give his younger cousin a welcoming embrace, and then jumped back as frozen hands met his.

“It’s all right. There was a sledge making a delivery to Brownlock’s and the carter gave me a ride. It’s not as though I tried to walk.”

Frodo’s eyes fell on the large pile of luggage on his front step. “Pippin? Do your parents know you’ve come?” Frodo had a sinking feeling.

“I left a note.” Pippin said tersely.

Uh-oh. It was as Frodo feared. Pippin had clearly had another row with his parents--probably his father.

Pippin turned and started to drag in the luggage--including, as Frodo could tell, the case he carried his Tookland pipes in and his fiddle case as well. How long was the lad planning to stay this time? He didn’t normally bring his instruments to Bag End.

“I’ll just go make his room up, then, Mr. Frodo?” asked Marigold.

“Yes, thank you!” said Frodo absently.

“I’ll help!” Pippin grinned and started dragging as much as he could in the direction of his guest room. Frodo shook his head and gathered what remained, and followed after. He wondered what the story was this time.

While Marigold put clean linens on the guest bed, and Pippin began to unpack, Frodo began to get some idea of what the problem was. “And with the wedding coming up, Mother is constantly finding all sorts of things for me to do. Weddings are lasses’ business, you know, Frodo, and Pearl’s asked me to play my pipes--that’s all well and good. I’m glad to do that for her--but that doesn’t mean I need to be entertaining strange lasses to tea or writing out invitations or any of that sort of rot, but if I say anything, Mother gets cross, and Pearl gets weepy, and Pimmie and Vinca start calling me all sorts of selfish. And Father is no help at all, no, all he says is ‘don’t vex your mother, Peregrin!’ which is all well and good for him to say, for if she asks *him* to do anything for the wedding, he says he’s got Thain’s business to see to and sloughs off to his study. But yesterday when *I* decided it would be a good day to take Gooseberry out for a nice long ride--because it might be cold, but say what you will, it was fair and sunny enough for riding yesterday--he goes and tells me that’s what the grooms are for and I would probably get sick--and you know it’s been at least two years now since I was really sick--and I wasn‘t all that sick even then--and that I need to take responsibility seriously because I’m going to be Thain one day--and that Mother needs me to make some list or other. Well, Frodo, I ask you, is that fair?”

Frodo just shook his head, for he knew he’d not have time to say anything before the flow of words started up again, and sure enough--

“But at any rate Falco is as sick of all this fol-de-rol as I am, though he daren’t say anything to Pearl about it, and of course, being a Bolger he can’t get out of any of it--you know how proper they all are--but last evening he took me in to The Bouncing Bunny with him” (this was more properly known as The Leaping Hare, a favorite inn in Tuckborough) “and while we were there I heard some carters talking about this delivery they had to make today to Hobbiton, so I decided to get out while the getting was good--”

He paused a moment to slide his fiddle case beneath the bed, and then opened the case with his pipes to check them. “--and so I’ve come to stay with you until the wedding--”

Frodo’s eyes went wide. It was nearly a month until the wedding. True, Pippin had stayed at Bag End that long, or longer, before, but never without prior parental permission, and never that long without Merry. He took a deep breath and interrupted the flow. “Pip!”

Pippin stopped talking and looked at him.

“Pippin, I need to go see to the bread. The first batch is fresh from the oven, and there’s a seedcake. Why don’t you finish unpacking and come to the kitchen for elevenses?” He looked at Marigold, who had been listening to Pippin’s monologue with what he could swear was a smirk. “Marigold, will you join us?”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Frodo. It’s smelling right nice.”

Frodo fled to the kitchen. He had at least a few minutes to collect himself before Pippin finished his unpacking. Good heavens! he thought, I do wish Merry were here.

This was the fifth time in three years that Pippin had turned up unexpectedly at Frodo’s door, running off from what he saw as parental tyranny. But the tween had never before come and announced his intention to stay an entire month! And Pippin was supposed to come to Bag End *after* the wedding, along with Merry, for his usual spring visit. Frodo gave a great sigh, and removed the bread from the oven.

He put the kettle on for tea, and there was a knock at the kitchen door. “Come on in, Sam!” he called. There was not a good deal that could be done in the garden this time of year, but on the days when Marigold came in, Sam would find some jobs to keep himself busy, and then he would join Frodo and his sister for elevenses before he walked his sister back down to Number Three.

“So, Master Pippin is here?” Sam asked with a grin. “I saw the sledge driver drop him off.”

Frodo rolled his eyes. “Yes, he’s here, *and* without leave. Sam, the lad wants to stay with me a *month*!”

Sam’s eyebrows rose at this, but he was spared having to comment by the arrival in the kitchen of his sister and Pippin.

In spite of his irritation, Frodo could not help but smile at the sight of his young cousin, his color still high from cold and wind, as he laughed and joked. Frodo set out some of the fresh bread, with blackberry jam, and butter and honey, and seedcake, and he poured out the tea and listened to Pippin as he told of how his Cousin Ferdinand had hidden his son Ferdibrand’s pipes (for though old Ferdinand was quite good on the pipes, and had in fact taught Pippin to play, poor Ferdibrand made the sorts of sounds that made dogs howl and cats run and hide) and how Ferdibrand had searched for them high and low. His description of the search, and how old Ferdinand had enlisted the help of nearly everyone in the Great Smials to keep his son from finding the pipes soon had Sam and Marigold wiping their eyes with laughter. Pippin did liven a place up. It would be nice to visit with him a day or so. But not a month. *Definitely* not a month! Not without Merry! And especially not without his parents’ leave!

Soon after they had finished elevenses, Pippin helped Frodo with the washing up, and then Frodo sent him into the sitting room while he put a pot of vegetable soup on, to simmer until luncheon. A bit of bread and cheese along with the soup would make a nice meal in a couple of hours after elevenses had worn off.

Frodo wondered about supper. He liked to make some of Pippin’s favorite foods when he visited--there was another seedcake in the pantry. No fresh mushrooms this time of year, but dried ones would make a nice mushroom soup. He could make a batch of noodles and cheese, maybe a pot of beans and fry up some sausages and potatoes. They could skip tea, and have a combined late tea and early supper, something that Frodo had rather got into the habit of from Bilbo.

He finished his preparations, and leaving the pot of soup simmering away, he went into the sitting room. Pippin was sprawled on the settee with a book, but he wasn’t really reading, he was half dozing. He looked up with a smile as Frodo came in.

“What were you reading?” Frodo asked him.

“It’s one of Bilbo’s books of Elven tales. It’s rather frightening--I always thought Elves were rather kind and silly from the way Bilbo spoke of them when he told of his Adventure. But these Elves were rather fierce, and not at all kind.”

Frodo took it, and glanced at it. Ah, it was Bilbo’s rather simplified translation of “The Silmarillion”, which he had written out for Frodo back when he was just a bit younger than Pippin was now.

“Shall I read it to you?” He sat down at the end of the settee, and Pippin propped his feet in Frodo’s lap. Frodo gave his cousin a mock stern look, but Pippin just smirked at him and left his feet where they were.

Frodo read the tale of how the famed jewels were created, and how they caused the downfall of the Elven paradise, and the rash oaths of vengeance that caused so much grief in Middle-earth.

Pippin did not appear to be paying that much attention, but Frodo knew that was deceptive. His cousin was taking in every word, as he showed by his occasional shrewd questions and observations.

“I’m rather glad hobbits don’t go in much for oaths and vengeance,” he said. “It’s not at all a comfortable thing.”

Frodo laughed. “That is an understatement if I ever heard one, Peregrin Took! And of course, being comfortable is more important than anything?”

Pippin looked serious for a moment, and was rather quiet, before he said, “No, I would say there are a lot of things more important than being comfortable--like your friends and family--but if you are *not* comfortable, then comfort seems very important indeed.”

Frodo smiled and closed the book, and stood up, dumping Pippin’s feet to the floor. “Well, I don’t know about you, but my stomach says it will be more comfortable with some luncheon in it.”

The two cousins spent a pleasant afternoon after luncheon, taking a brief walk down to The Ivy Bush, where Frodo treated Pippin to a half, and then returning to Bag End, where Pippin spent some time trouncing Frodo at draughts. They prepared supper together, and ate until there was not a crumb left between them. Frodo was unsurprised however that Pippin took more than his share of the noodles and cheese--it was a favorite dish of his.

They chatted in the cozy kitchen, and then finally retired for the night.

Frodo lay awake for a while, wondering how he was going to handle this problem of Pippin. While Paladin and Tina did not seem to mind Pippin escaping to Bag End for a few days on occasion, Frodo was fairly certain they would not at all appreciate his staying on for a whole month, especially with all the preparations for Pearl’s wedding that were going on. And it was unfair of Pippin to slip away from his responsibilities there.

Frodo did understand--he had seen enough of weddings when he still lived in Brandy Hall to realize that there was something about them that made even normally sensible hobbit matrons like Eglantine Took suddenly obsessed with all sorts of insignificant details. And besides Pippin’s mother and sisters there were dozens of aunties and female cousins who all wanted a say, and probably were cornering Pippin at every chance to see if he would let fall some detail of what was being planned.

But he couldn’t just send Pippin away. In the stubborn mood the lad was in, he would not go home, but would probably try to head for Merry in Buckland. And whatever Pippin said, Frodo was not sure his health would be up to that sort of trek this time of year.

No, Pippin needed to want to go home, and to realize that he should not have left his family in the lurch. It was how to make him understand that Frodo had to puzzle out.

The next morning brought rain, a storm at first of sleet and rain, that gradually turned to a persistent drizzle, washing away the last slush of a late Solmath snowfall. Winter had been colder and lingered longer than usual this year.

The cousins sat in the kitchen, and ate their way from first breakfast to second without a break, as they talked about different things. Pippin showed Frodo the small leather purse, embossed with his monogram that Merry had sent him. Pippin, due to all the family preparations for Pearl’s wedding, had been unable to travel to Buckland for Merry’s birthday this year. Frodo had travelled there, and spent a few days in his old room at Brandy Hall. Merry had only had a small family celebration this year, for next year, when he came of age, it would be expected that the Son of the Hall would have a magnificent party. Frodo showed Pippin the weed pouch Merry had given him.

They cleaned up the kitchen, and then Frodo persuaded Pippin to bring his fiddle to the sitting room and play for him for a while. He was still trying to think of how to talk to Pippin, to get him to see that he needed to be at home.

After a luncheon of toasted bread and cheese and pickles and ham, Frodo took out his pipe. Pippin looked at it longingly.

“Oh, no, Peregrin Took!” Frodo said before Pippin could even open his mouth to ask. “Your parents will be grieved enough with me for your coming here, without my letting you do something they haven’t said you can do yet.”

Pippin scowled. “They’ll never know, Frodo. Besides, Merry lets--”

Frodo cut him off with a wave of his hand, “I don’t want to know what Merry lets you do. Merry’s as big a rascal as you are.” He smiled to take the sting out of his words, and Pippin shrugged.

Frodo decided that now was as good a time as any to bring up the subject of his sister’s wedding. “So Pearl and Falco will be sitting for their gifts in a week or so. Do you know what you plan to give them?”

Pippin shrugged. “Haven’t given it much thought,” was the terse reply.

Frodo’s eyebrows climbed. For all his embarrassment when it came time for them to be opened, Pippin loved to give gifts, and usually put a good deal of thought into them.

“I’m surprised.”

Pippin shrugged.

Frodo studied his cousin for a moment as the silence stretched. Did Pippin have problems with Pearl getting married? Perhaps he didn’t like Falco Bolger. Frodo did not know him well--he was only a distant connection through Odovocar Bolger, and not a relation, and he lived in Waymeet. In fact the first time Frodo had been introduced to him was at Pearl’s betrothal party, though he had seemed a nice enough chap, and thoroughly besotted with Pearl.

“Pippin, do you not wish for Pearl to marry?”

Pippin looked up, startled. “Well, of course I knew she’d be marrying soon. She’s nearly thirty-nine, after all.” There was no ring of conviction in his words, though.

“ ‘But’. You are not happy with it. Don’t you like Falco?”

Again a shrug. “He’s very nice, I suppose. He tries hard, anyway. I don’t really know him, though. I just--” Pippin stopped, blushed beet red to the tips of his ears, and shut his mouth with a snap.

“Just what? Out with it, Pippin.”

He mumbled something, and turned away, still blushing.

“I couldn’t hear you, Pip,” said Frodo, as patiently as he could. Actually, his patience was wearing a bit thin. Pippin was seldom this reticent with him.

“I just--Frodo, I always hoped Pearl would marry *you*!” he finally blurted.

Frodo was stunned. “Pippin!” he exclaimed when he could get his voice to work. “Me?” He’d had no idea Pippin had such a notion. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, for he didn’t know whether to laugh or be angry, and really neither was the right response to the tween’s shamefaced admission. Finally he said as gently as he could, “Pippin, I am fond of Pearl, but not at all in that way. And I doubt she would ever have considered me that way either.”

“Well,” Pippin said defensively, “I wasn’t the only one to think it was a good idea. I hadn’t really thought about it at all until Pearl came of age and I heard some of the aunties talking. *They* seemed to think it would be a splendid match! And when I heard them, I realized how *perfect* it would be--then you’d be my *brother*!”

Frodo found himself touched to the point of tears by this artless admission. “Oh, Pippin!”

“It would have been really lovely to have you married to Pearl. We would have seen a good deal more of you!”

Frodo reached over and gave Pippin a hug. He had been aware that a number of spinsters and matrons would have liked to have seen him make a match of things with Pearl Took, but they simply were not interested in one another romantically, and such things could not be forced.

“Well, Pippin, I am very flattered that you wanted me for a brother-in-law, but I have to say that I am very relieved that you never tried any matchmaking.” He shuddered to think of the awkward encounters that might have resulted if the impulsive tween had attempted to get him together with his sister.

Pippin blushed again. “Well, Merry said he’d thump me from one end of the Shire to the other if I ever plagued you with any such thing. He wasn’t angry when I told him, but I am sure he would have been if I had done something about it. So I promised him I wouldn‘t.”

Frodo breathed a sigh of relief. Blessed Meriadoc! If there was anything in the world this Took feared, it was making his Brandybuck cousin angry. It happened so rarely that when it did, Pippin was devastated.

Frodo placed an arm around his cousin’s shoulders. “Pippin, I hope you know that I love you and Merry dearly--I do not think I would love you more if you were truly my brothers. Nothing would change that.”

Pippin nodded, his green eyes shining. “You aren’t angry that I told you?”

“No, I’m not. But I do think that you have been doing Pearl and her intended an injustice. Your sister has no way of knowing how she has disappointed you, and even if she did, there is naught to be done about it. The heart bestows itself where it will, Pippin.”

He looked up at Frodo, and blushed again. “I haven’t been very fair to her, have I?”

Frodo shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not.”

Pippin looked rather shamefaced. “I guess I had better get busy and try to find a nice gift for her then.”
Frodo studied him for a few moments, and then stood up. “Come with me, Pippin.”

Curious, Pippin followed Frodo to his room. Frodo opened the wardrobe, and from the top shelf took a box. “I had planned to give her this myself, but I think it will mean more coming from her brother.” He carried the box over and sat down on the bed. Pippin sat across from him, green eyes glittering with inquisitiveness. Frodo took his key ring and opened the box. It was filled with jewelry.

“Oh,” Pippin breathed.

“These were my mother’s,” he said. He took out a small pouch of burgundy velvet. “But not this. You know that your father once had a sister named Pearl.”

Pippin nodded. “Pearl was his oldest sister. But she was thrown by her pony and died when he was only a faunt. He doesn’t remember her, though sometimes Auntie Primrose and Auntie Peridot talk about her. Pearl was named for her.”

“You may not realize that all three of your aunts were good friends of my mother. Pearl was about four years older than my mother. The accident had happened just before your aunt turned twenty. This was to have been her birthday gift on becoming a tween, from my mother and her parents.” He opened the pouch, and within was a bracelet of pearls, interspersed with small silver beads, and a silver clasp shaped like a tiny shell.

“But Frodo! That ought to come from *you*!”

Frodo shook his head. “It’s a mathom, really, for I’ve no use for it, and as I said, I think it will mean a good deal more if it comes from her little brother.” He grinned and then said in a conspiratorial tone, “Besides, if your family thinks you came to visit me so you could fetch Pearl’s wedding gift, they are likely to be a good deal more forgiving don’t you think?”

“Oh, Frodo!” Pippin gave him an enthusiastic hug. “But what will you do for a gift?”

“Don’t you worry your head about that. I have a good many possibilities as a gift. I do believe there is a silver bowl on the sideboard that your sister has admired on more than one occasion.”

Pippin sat back, and looked at the bracelet once more. “I suppose I shall have to go back soon, then.” He sighed.

Frodo looked out the window. “The rain has stopped. If it is not too wet tomorrow, I shall go down to The Ivy Bush and hire a couple of ponies, and we shall ride back together.”

“That would be nice.” Pippin grinned mischievously. “I still think you would make a splendid brother-in-law. But I have two more sisters…” He stopped and broke into a guffaw. “Oh, Frodo! You should have seen your face! Don’t worry--Pimmie’s been spoken for by Milo Goodbody for ages--they’re just waiting until they are old enough for it to be respectable. And Vinca is far too fickle--I wouldn’t do that to you, I promise, Frodo!”

Frodo chuckled. “I should hope not, you rascal! Now that it’s not raining, why don’t you get out your pipes, and we’ll go in the garden, and you can play me the pieces you have planned for the wedding.”

And Pippin darted off to fetch his pipes, and Frodo gave a sad look to the box he held, before locking it, and putting it once more upon its high shelf.

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*Mersday is more or less the Shire equivalent of “Thursday”, except that it is the sixth, not the fifth, day of the week. Solmath is the Shire equivalent of February, except that it always has thirty days.