Chapter 41. Breakfast Surprise

Robin Tallfellow awakened before the dawning, as he usually did, but this morning was not usual... he stretched, wondering at the softness of his bed. Of course, once his eyes popped open and he saw the stars peeping in through a round window, rather than directly overhead, he remembered.

It had been so long since he'd slept in a bed--months!

Every autumn, as the weather turned chilly and rainy, he'd make his way to Bree, where Hopman Butterbur would give him a place to sleep and regular meals, in return for his labour. Conjuror's tricks weren't wanted at the Pony, but rather strong arm and strong back and quick wits. Robin would turn his hand to anything: stable mucking, harness mending, wood chopping, roof repairs, even cooking. After several years of this arrangement, in which Robin proved himself satisfactory and trustworthy, Old Butterbur even left the wanderer and his son Barliman in charge of breakfast for the Prancing Pony's guests, snatching a few extra winks after long years of lingering late with those guests who did not seem inclined to seek their beds, and rising early to tend those who wanted breakfast before an early start.

Robin would stay through the winter months, snug as a bear in his bed at night, until the promise of spring came wafting in through his window. He'd give his notice, and not long after, he'd slip away before the dawning, out the Gate, walking Westward, back to the Shire he loved.

Bag End was quiet... Robin rose from his bed and dressed, then pushed his door open to listen. He could hear soft snores from one of the other bedrooms, no doubt his excellent host. Well now, he was up before the household, it seemed.

He had packed up his things last night before retiring, and now, taking up rucksack in one hand and boots in the other, he crept very softly along to the kitchen. He would thank his host by cooking up a proper Prancing Pony breakfast, he would!

He had lived among hobbits long enough to know something of their ways, and so it was short work for him to build up the fire and locate the necessary ingredients in the near pantry. He was used to working at a crouch when in a hobbit hole, and so it was no trouble at all to set the table and stir up a feast. As the sun began to brighten the sky the wakening sleepers were greeted by wondrous smells: bread toasting, bacon crisping, eggs frying, and apple pockets baking.

Robin had warmed the teapot and was measuring tea into the pot as Bilbo appeared in the kitchen doorway. 'Good morning!' the Man said cheerily.

Bilbo blinked. 'What's all this?' he said.

'Breakfast!' Robin answered, gesturing to the table laden with good things. 'Everything's just about ready.'

'Where did you...' Bilbo said, his sleepy gaze sharpening as it fixed on the teapot Robin was filling.

'Ah, it was on a shelf, right at eye-level,' Robin said. 'I couldn't help seeing it. I've seen many like it, in Tookish smials--many's the time I've been asked in to tea, and the tea was poured out of a pot just like this one! There must have been a peddler with a waggonload of these pots who came through the Shire upon a time.'

'Indeed,' Bilbo said, and now he realised why Pippin's shards had stirred old memory. His mother had bought a teapot from a peddler wandering through Tookland, or rather, the Old Took, taken with the thistle design, had bought teapots for his wife and each of his daughters. The peddler had been well-pleased, for when the Thain's appreciation became known, he'd sold all the remainder of his thistle-flowered pots in short order!

The teapot had sat on the highest shelf in the pantry for a dog's age, all but forgotten by Bilbo, though Salsify climbed a step stool every month, to wash and polish all the pieces on the high shelves, just in case they might be wanted.

Before he could say anything, however, he felt a little hand clutch at him, and Pippin was there, staring wide-eyed at the teapot as the Man poured in the steaming water.

'How...?' the little hobbit breathed, and then he flung his arms about Bilbo in an ecstasy of delight. 'You found it! You found some Elf-glue after all! You mended the teapot!'

'I...' Bilbo said, his arms automatically going around the youngster to return the hug. And then straightening, he said, 'Actually, it was Robin who conjured it.'

'Robin!' the little lad said, running to hug the kneeling Man. Robin hastily put the teakettle down and, mystified, looked at Bilbo.

'The pot that was broken has been mended,' Bilbo said, his gaze boring into the Man. They'd talked over brandy about Pippin's purpose, his determination, and Bilbo's regret, and Robin had been a sympathetic listener. 'Ah, if only all our ills were so easily mended,' had been one of his comments.

He had not seen the broken remains; Bilbo had bundled them into his desk, intending to take them down to the jumble shop later, to look for something similar amongst the random offerings there.

'Mended!' Robin said in surprise, and then he seemed to catch on. 'I see...' he said slowly. 'That wondrous Elf-glue you were telling me about...'

'No,' Bilbo said, for he wasn't going to encourage more wanderings on Pippin's part, should the lad have mishaps with more breakables in future. 'No, I don't have any more Elf-glue, and I’m not sure when I'll be able to get any more. That's why I'm so grateful to you for conjuring a new pot as you did, pulling it out of your cap. A marvellous cap it is, to produce rabbits, and teapots the way it does!'

After all, it seemed unlikely that Pippin would go out in search of a wandering conjuror, to mend his troubles in future.

'Marvellous!' Pippin echoed, adding excitedly, 'What else can you pull out of it?'

'Naught, I'm afraid,' Robin said promptly. 'My poor cap is quite exhausted from its endeavours. I fear it will need some days of rest before it conjures aught else.' He brought his hands together with a clap and rubbed them vigorously. 'But our breakfast will go cold!' he said, changing the subject. 'Shall we...?'

'Pippin-lad,' Bilbo said, 'Go and wake your sleepy-headed cousin. I should hate for him to miss this feast! Why, it puts me in mind of a morning at the Prancing Pony in Bree...'

***

Of all the hobbits at Whittacres, young Ferdi, perhaps, had the most restful night. All slept uneasily, and Ferdinand slept not at all, watching by his son. Rosemary refused to be sent to bed, but when she fell asleep on her chair, her father picked her up and laid her gently down on a pallet Eglantine had fixed for Ferdinand, that he might take his rest while watching with his son, for he could not bring himself to carry her out of the room to the bed she shared with Pimpernel while they were visiting, he could not bring himself to leave young Ferdi alone even for a heartbeat. There beside the bed he brooded, watching his children sleep and thinking of how his wife would take the news.

He didn't want breakfast, when the time came, but Woodruff persuaded him that he must keep up his strength.

And poor young Ferdi--how was he to keep up his strength, with naught but sips of boiled water in his brief awakenings? But still Woodruff held fast, refusing the young hobbit any other sustenance, for in her memory was a nightmare vision of a young hobbit with internal injuries, writhing in agony after eating, and going to his death in torment. It had been her mistake, allowing the lad to eat when he insisted he was feeling better... and her Mistress at the time, old Rosie, had never let her forget her error, nor the consequences that followed.

***

Bilbo had planned to hire a sleek two-wheeled cart and ponies for the journey to Whittacres, and the hobbits and their guest walked together down the Hill to the livery in Hobbiton. 'I could hire a waggon, I suppose,' Bilbo said, looking up at Robin. 'You could ride along with us as far as Waymoot...'

Robin laughed. 'Imagine the sight!' he said. 'Me, with my long legs, in a hobbit waggon! Now that would be an entertainment, indeed!' He hefted his pack onto his shoulders, comfortably heavy with comestibles. 'No,' he added. 'You go on. I'm sure you'll be wanting to make haste, to return the lad to his anxious mother!' He touched his cap, shook hands all around, and turned towards the great East Road, waving a hand to acknowledge their farewells.

They had been driving half an hour or so, the ponies were trotting along, the wheels spinning pleasantly, and the hobbits were singing when two fast riders swept around them, leaving them in a cloud of dust.

'I say,' Bilbo said, startled. 'If I didn't know better, I'd think that was Stelliana Took! But who'd think to see that prim and proper hobbit riding astride with her hair streaming behind her?'

'Well, the Tooks from the Green Hills might ride so...' Frodo said. 'I've seen Pearl on a pony, her curls wild and blowing as she ran her pony at a fence...'

'My Pearl?' Pippin said in wonder.

Frodo smiled and squeezed his small cousin. 'The very same,' he said. 'O' course, your mother doesn't let her run so wild any more, now that she's all grown up...'

'She's not grown up! She's but a tween!' Pippin said, indignant.

'In any event,' Frodo said, 'your grandmother Banks saw us riding races, and it wasn't long after that, your sister wasn't allowed anymore.'

'She'd probably heard that Pearl was running with one of the worst young rascals of Buckland,' Bilbo said, 'and of course, she worried that Pearl's reputation might be ruined, and she might never find a proper husband.'

'Guess I'd have to marry her myself, then,' Frodo said lightly, and Pippin choked.

Bilbo laughed. 'You just might!' he said, 'and then you'd have the little brother you always wanted, since leaving Merry behind at Buckland!'

'O yes!' Pippin cried.

'I was only joking!' Frodo protested, and Bilbo laughed again.

'Be careful what you joke about,' he said. 'It might just come true!'