Disclaimer: All Hobbits and Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien.

Characters: Pippin, Paladin. Pippin’s first impression of Sancho Proudfoot.

Tinderwood’s Pipe Shop

Hobbiton, Afterlithe, 1393, S.R.

Big houses….tall trees. To three-year-old Pippin, everything was either big or tall. Even hobbit-teens appeared larger than life to the small child. Pippin sucked on his forefinger while clinging to his papa’s big hand as they walked past the village square towards the door of Mr. Tinderwood’s Pipe Shop.

“Come along, Pippin,” said Paladin, smiling to his young son. “Up we go!” Paladin swept his little faunt into the air to make him giggle; with a firm hold on the boy’s hand, he then let Pippin land upright in his arms.

Pippin placed his finger in his mouth again, but also cackled as his papa found ticklish spots round his tummy.

Paladin planted a kiss on his son's smiling face as he opened the shop door with his free hand. “Be a good lad now, Pippin.” With that, Paladin set the child down, however, he soon found the little hobbit stuck to him like honey. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Paladin spoke gently.

Pippin wasn’t so sure about this strange place. He warily eyed the huge barrels stacked high against the wall. He pointed to them while trying to talk around the finger in his mouth, “Beew, Papa.”

Paladin laughed, crouching down beside the small faunt, “Not this time, Pip. That’s pipe-weed in those barrels.” Paladin went up to the counter and ordered three pouches of Old Toby.

Pippin decided to let the big people talk while he went off for a look about. He spied a crisp yellow leaf on the wooden floor not too far from his papa. Security-finger still in his mouth, Pippin crouched down to pick up the old leaf, turning it in his hand to better look at it. He next put it to his nose for the “smell” test. The leaf had the same fragrance as his papa when he held a certain pouch in his hands while filling his pipe. Still curious, Pippin stuck is tongue out to give the leaf a wee taste.

“No, Pippin!”

Pippin never got to taste-test the object in his hands; his papa took it away and then threw it off to the side. Pippin looked up at the tall hobbit, ever trusting.

“That’s a dirty old leaf, Pip. Nasty leaf.”

The old shopkeeper laughed, “That little one is a handful, isn’t he?”

“That, he is,” answered Paladin.  The adult hobbits continued their previous conversation in a low volume.

Pippin resigned himself to sit at his papa’s feet while listening to dull talk between grown ups.

“Hullo, Olo!” Pippin looked up. His papa wore a smile as he greeted another grown hobbit who just entered the shop. Behind the newcomer was another small child who seemed not much older than Pippin. When their eyes met, the other child stuck his tongue out at Pippin. Pippin stood up, hanging onto his father’s leg again, saying nothing to the mean lad. Sneaking a one-eyed glance from behind the safety of his father’s leg, Pippin stuck his tongue out in response.

“Is that your Sancho?” Pippin heard his papa ask the new hobbit.

“He’s a right strappin’ young lad, that Sancho,” said Mr. Tinderwood.

“That one yours?” asked Olo, sizing up the babe gripping his father’s leg. “When does he become a faunt?”

“He is a faunt,” Paladin replied firmly. “He’s actually a month older than your Sancho.”

“Not by the looks of him,” countered Olo. His fatherly pride ran as deep as Paladin’s. “Lots of folk think my lad is a hearty four year old!”

“Don’t forget young Master Pippin has had a hard time of it, Olo,” said Mr. Tinderwood in Pippin’s defence. “Bein’ sick an’ all when he was a wee baby--near to dyin’, he was.”

“He almost looks sickly now,” said Olo, “that is, compared to my robust Sancho.”

Paladin snorted a laugh, “Indeed he looks robust. I’d be careful if I were you--he may become a bit too robust around the middle as he gets older.”

Both father’s glared at one another until the high-pitched voice of Mrs. Tinderwood came singing from in the back room. She emerged through the barrier curtain to the front shop with a platter of apple slices. “I fancied I heard Mr. Paladin out here--and I know he doesn’t go anywhere without his wee shadow!” She looked over the counter and smiled at the small lad with honey-brown curls kissed by the summer sun.

“That is very thoughtful of you, Mrs. Tinderwood,” said Paladin. He lifted his son up then sat him atop the counter. Pippin saw the apple slices then reached over to take one. Olo also picked up his son, but only long enough for the child to grab nearly the entire lot then run into a corner to eat his plunder.

“What do you say, Pip?” Paladin gently prompted his son who now nibbled on his apple slice.

“Pippin apple.”

The grown ups laughed. Paladin helped his little lad along, “What do you tell Mrs. Tinderwood for Pippin’s apple, eh?”

Still nibbling, Pippin turned to the hobbit-matron with the large apron tied around her waist. “Tenk yoo.” More laughter followed.

“How is Mr. Bilbo and his lad doin’?” asked Mrs. Tinderwood. Frodo was one of her husband’s favourite customers, always polite and willing to listen to the proprietor’s tales of his youth.

“Both of my cousins are faring better today, although Bilbo had the worst of it, being up in age and all,” answered Paladin. “I’m staying only until tomorrow at elevenses, then my children and I will be heading back to Whitwell.”

“Crops won’t grow without tendin’ to,” put in Mr. Tinderwood. “The old Gaffer will tell you that as well.”

“Aye,” said Paladin, taking Pippin in his arms then grabbed his purchased items. Pippin finished his apple slice then began rubbing his eyes. “I best be going now. It’s almost time for his nap.”

“Good day t’ ya, Mister Paladin,” the Tinderwoods spoke in unison.

“Keep feeding that babe of yours, Paladin,” said Olo, “and maybe he’ll grow up to be like my Sancho.”

Sancho sat in the corner eating his fill of apple slices then spat out the apple skins he wasn’t able to chew onto the floor. Paladin eyed the child, shaking his head. The little lad stuck his tongue out at the grown-up. Paladin clucked his tongue and whispered, “Good heavens above, I hope not.” When he looked back, thankfully Olo and the Tinderwoods were already engaged in their own conversation.

As Paladin opened the shop door to exit, Pippin peered over his papa’s shoulder gazing at the mean lad, then stuck his tongue out at Sancho. Pippin wasn’t happy with Sancho sticking his tongue out at his papa, and such is the communication between three-year-olds.

The End