Chapter 2, An Afternoon in Tuckborough

“Hello, Mr. Mat!” Pippin greeted the elder hobbit. Together, he and Degger walked inside the lean-to adjacent to the stables where the carriage drivers rested between labours. Pippin and Degger decided to search out the Thain’s driver directly after their meal. Mat was Pippin’s favourite of the three drivers, and no other would do for their special task. Pippin regarded the other drivers boring; they usually kept to their jobs, speaking very little or only when spoken to. When Mat didn’t have to be formal, such as while driving the Thain or his guests, he delighted in Pippin’s company. Pippin often pressed Mat for riddles or stories long stored inside the elder hobbit’s head.

“Hullo, Master Pippin!” Mat stood up from the chair near the fireplace where he was warming his toes, giving a slight bow to the children. His deep, blue eyes sparkled with a light that offset his ruddy cheeks and auburn locks, revealing a spot of grey at the temples. “What brings ye here t’ the stables, eh?”

“My friend Degger and I need to go to the market,” Pippin announced merrily. “To Mr. Tooter’s shop!”

Matt looked dubiously at the young teen. “I take it this is a real errand this time?”

Pippin feigned insult. “My previous errand was real, Mr. Mat.”

Mat shook his head in remembrance of that day. “The Thain didn’t think ’twas real. In fact, I recall him bein’ quite vexed when he learnt his carriage wasn’t waitin’ for him when he wanted it an’ that the young, forthcomin’ Thain had taken it for a joy ride.”

“I can’t help it if Cousin Ferumbras is getting slow in his old age--present company excepted.” Pippin quickly put in the last part, not wanting to ruin his prospects of a ride to Tuckborough. However, Pippin knew exactly what his older friend meant. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mat. I didn’t mean to get you into any trouble.”

“I know, lad,” said Mat, “but we have t’ be careful from now on, all right?” A smile brightened his features when Pippin acknowledged with a nod.

“Mr. Mat,” Degger spoke up, “Mr. Pippin is tellin’ the truth. I was there when Mr. Paladin told him t’ go t’ town. He even gave Mr. Pippin a letter t’ give Mr. Tooter. Ye see, I broke my dad’s pocket watch this mornin’ an’ now it needs fixin’.”

Mat looked upon the young, up-and-coming gentlehobbit. He’d known Degger since the lad arrived at Great Smials six years ago and deemed him quite well-mannered--that is, for an orphan. “O’ course I’ll drive ye lads,” he said with a wink of an eye, “although I think we’ll leave the Thain’s carriage here for now. We’ll take one of the pony traps t’ be safe.”

The drive to Tuckborough wasn’t a very long ride, being only a mile and a half away. As Pippin had guessed earlier while on the roof of the Smials, most of the snow had melted away with the noontime sun, leaving the lanes open for easy enough travel. Soon, the lads were feasting their eyes upon market booths lined up in the town square, their owners hawking their wares or services at anyone willing to listen.

Mat brought the trap to a stop in front of Mr. Tooter’s Watch and Jewellery Shop. “I’ll wait for ye lads o’er yon by the Oak Leaf.”

“Thank you, Mat,” said Pippin, hopping down from the trap. He turned to look up at the wooden placard hanging above the doorpost: Tooter’s Watch and Jewellery Shop. Painted upon the placard were colourful gems and the face of a clock, meant for the unlettered hobbits. “We won’t be long,” he added, “and here are two pennies to take your luncheon at the inn. Papa gave me enough for all of us.”

Mat tipped his hat toward the youngster. “Thank ye, Mr. Pippin--shall I order yer meals for ye?”

Pippin looked over to Degger for his opinion, surmising the elder teen’s wish in his facial expression. “No, thank you, Mr. Matt. Degger and I will order our own luncheon when we arrive.”

“As ye wish, sir,” answered Matt, driving on toward the Oak Leaf.

Hearing the chime on his door that signalled incoming or outgoing customers, Robin Tooter welcomed his young customers. “Good afternoon, lads! How may I be of service to you today?”

“Go on,” Pippin gently urged his bashful friend forward.

Degger reached inside his pocket for the damaged watch and then presented it to Mr. Tooter. “I broke my dad’s watch an’ now it needs fixin’. Can ye repair it?”

“Well, I don’t know yet, young fellow,” Mr. Tooter nervously chuckled. “I’d have to take a better look at it.” With that, he picked up a magnifying glass from off his work table, peering at Degger’s watch.

Degger stared vigilantly as the jeweller placed the thick piece of glass just above his watch. “What are ye doin’?”

“I am examining the damaged bits,” Tooter explained. To Robin, the older teen appeared a bit uneasy over the handling of his watch.

“Can ye repair it? I meant t’ put it back b’fore I went outside, but I forgot...”

“Yes, yes,” the jeweller replied absently, still eyeing the broken parts of the timepiece. He turned the watch this way and that for better inspection.

Degger’s arms nervously twitched at his sides while watching Mr. Tooter turn the beloved pocket watch about in his hand. “I hope it can be fixed,” he said nervously.

Now Tooter became uneasy with the lad watching his every move. He wondered if perhaps the lad was anxious over retribution for breaking his father’s possession. “Look, lad,” he said, “you can tell your father that his watch is indeed repairable, however I shall have to keep it for a day or two in order to further examine it.” And get you out of the way, he thought more to himself. “Will you or your father be picking it up?”

Degger’s brown eyes grew sombre...distant, hesitating to answer Mr. Tooter’s question.

“Well?”

“Mr. Tooter,” Pippin finally spoke up, “My name is Peregrin Took, and this is my friend Degger Greenhill. Unfortunately, Degger’s father passed on some years ago--the pocket watch you hold is an heirloom and is very precious to my friend. My father recommended your services to Degger. He also gave us a letter to give to you.” Pippin fumbled inside his inner coat pocket for the note.

Quite humbled, Mr. Tooter looked at Degger. “I apologise for my hasty words, Mr. Greenhill,” he spoke softly, “I will take great care with your pocket watch.”

Degger swallowed the lump in his throat, giving a small nod. “I don’t mean t’ be trouble, sir,” the lad blurted out suddenly, “I promise t’ stay quiet--t’ stop--” Degger felt Pippin nudge him. He took a deep, calming breath. “Thank ye, Mr. Tooter.”

Taking the letter Pippin offered, the shopkeeper broke open the small red seal with “P.T.” handwritten in the wax. Up and down his dark eyebrows went as he perused the note on the paper. At length, Mr. Tooter placed the letter on his table. He folded his arms across his chest while deep in thought then scratched his chin. “Hmm...”

Robin again picked up the pocket watch, giving it the third degree.

Pippin and Degger shared a baffled look, shrugging their shoulders at the mysterious letter and the repair-hobbit’s queer behaviour.

“Where did your father get this watch, my lad?” asked Robin, once again peering through his magnifying glass.

Degger shot a look at Pippin before answering the jeweller. “I don’t rightly know, sir. I remember sitting on my dad’s leg when I was a faunt an’ he took it out o’ his pocket t’ look at. It had a lid on it then--a duck carved in it, just like what’s painted there on the face. My brother had it a while b’fore I got it. Why do ye ask?”

“’Tis nothing,” the shopkeeper replied indifferently, carefully placing the watch inside a wooden workbox lined with black velvet to protect the contents.

Mr. Tooter’s enigmatic question and answer didn’t pacify Degger; it only served to make him agitated. “He didn’t pinch it, if that’s yer meanin’.”

The jeweller secretly chided himself for his near-slip of the tongue. “I wasn’t meaning that at all, young hobbit,” Robin firmly replied. “I was simply admiring it. Your watch will be ready on Sterday, Mr. Greenhill.”

“Not any sooner?” Degger ventured to ask.

“He wanted it for...,” Pippin implored and then relented. “Well...I suppose there’s nothing we can do about it, is there?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Mr. Tooter, gesturing to the multitude of jewellery and watch boxes piled high upon his work table. “All of the folk who belong to these fine treasures have been waiting long enough.”

“Come on, Degger,” Pippin sauntered toward the door, “We’ll just have to wait. At least it is getting repaired.”

With a very satisfied smile on his face, Robin Tooter watched the teens walk out his door.

Depressed over not walking out of the shop with Degger’s watch repaired and in hand, Pippin sighed heavily while surveying the bustle of the market goers, the cool sunny sky, the smell of baking bread...and sweet confections.

“I s’ppose we ought t’ be gettin’ t’ the Oak Leaf Inn for luncheon,” said Degger.

“I suppose so,” Pippin replied. His eyes set upon a particular shop across the road. Together, the two teens ambled toward said Inn.

“Degger?”

“Yes, Mr. Pippin?”

“After we eat lunch, let’s go drown our sorrows at Lolly’s Sweets Shop.”

“I can’t do that, Mr. Pippin. I didn’t bring any extra coin--I only got enough money t’ settle up my watch when it’s fixed,” said Degger.

“I’ve got a bit of pocket money with me,” said Pippin, stepping off of the porch. “I have enough to purchase a sack of sweets and have something left over to purchase Yule gifts!”

Sometime later, Pippin emerged from the doorway of Lolly’s shop popping a toffee drop into his mouth, and with Degger at his side. “Mmm! There’s nothing like the taste of toffee on the tongue! Hold out your hand, Degger.”

Degger did as he was bid and received a mixture of comfits, toffees, and raisins in return. “Thank ye, but that’ll be all I can eat, Mr. Pippin. I don’t hold well with too many sweetmeats--an’ my corners are still full from luncheon.”

“You’re soft, Degger!” Pippin teased his friend. “Merry and I once emptied a bag by ourselves.”

“Didn’t ye get sick after?” Degger asked. Together they marched in the direction of Mat and the pony trap sitting near to the Oak Leaf Inn under the cool rays of the winter sun.

“I don’t remember,” answered Pippin, skirting the issue. He slipped his hand into the bag of sweets to drop another handful of sweets into his mouth. “Mmm! The raisins mix well with toffee!”

Degger winced at the mere thought of all that sugar in his mouth at one time. “We have our final exam tomorrow mornin’, Mr. Pippin. Ye don’t want t’ get sick b’fore it, do ye?”

“I’m not going to get sick!” Pippin abruptly stopped walking and turned to Degger. “You’re beginning to sound like my parents--especially my father. And as he isn’t taking much of an interest in me of late, I have decided that I am old enough to make certain decisions for myself. I fancy that I want to eat a bag of sweets on my way home, and so I shall!”

Degger had a fancy that he’d be carrying a green thirteen year old into the Smials.

No sooner had the lads returned to Great Smials, and Degger helped Pippin to his room, that the younger teen crawled into his bed still wearing his day clothes.

“Go ahead,” Pippin sighed, lying upon his back. He held one arm over his eyes to shield out the light a bit. If only his stomach would settle down!

“Go ahead an’ what, Mr. Pippin?” asked Degger. “Do ye want me t’ fetch yer mum?”

“No!” said Pippin, unshielded one of his eyes. “I don’t need my mother. I meant go ahead and say you-told-me-so.”

Degger smiled compassionately at the pitiful lad, “Why would I want t’ do that?”

Pippin unshielded one of his eyes to glare at his friend, then ended up smiling in return. He wanted to laugh, however, his tummy had other plans. He curled up with a soft groan while holding his belly.

“Do ye need the chamber pot?”

Pippin shook his head.

“I’m goin’ t’ the kitchen t’ get ye some ginger tea,” said Degger. “Mistress May has made it for me on occasion t’ help my stomach settle when it got upset.”

“All right,” Pippin relented, “but on your way there don’t forget to tell Papa we’ve returned--but don’t say a word about me and the sweets.”

“I can’t lie t’ your dad, Mr. Pippin,” said Degger.

“All right, but don’t offer anything unless he asks.”

TBC...