Chapter Five

“Oi!”  Kira heard a remarkably clear voice outside her window.  She looked up to realise that somebody had actually opened it, pushed in the panes of glass, and that that very somebody was staring in at her.

“Tom?” she said.  “What are you doing?”

“I might ask the same question.  What’s been going on?  Roly and Daffy are back today and I haven’t seen you since Friday!”  On the same day that Kira and her mother had come back from Westmarch, Daffodil and Roly had left for a trip (planned long prior to the unexpected funeral) to Little Delving to see their grandparents.

With a sudden twinge of guilt she realised that Tom had been without any of his country friends for the past three days.  “Well, if you wanted to talk to me you could’ve just come in the front door!”

Tom shook his head.  “Your mum wouldn’t let me.  She said you weren’t to leave the hole until you’d done—oh, let’s see… three days’ worth of dishes and a small amount of hand-washing, and then you could leave to weed your part of the garden.  Odd behaviour, that.  I thought you could get away with a fair amount of mischief around your mother.  But odder still that there’d be something in your room that could keep you entertained for three days straight, leaving fun and work behind.  I started to worry about you.”

“You, worry?” said Kira.

Tom ignored her.  “Tell you what, though—I’ll strike you a deal.  I’ll help you do your chores if you’ll help me pull a trick on the Burrowses, and then you can tell me what’s been going on with you.”  He hoisted himself up and held out a hand through the deep window-hole.

“Can you really get through that?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?”

Kira sighed and yanked on the hand.  Tom came through, but so did a considerable amount of grass and dirt.  “Mother will wonder, of course, where all this came from,” she said as Tom picked himself off the floor.  Hastily she covered the book and bag with her quilt, before he could notice it.  “If I’d known I was to have company today I’d have tidied my room.”  She sighed.  “I’m going to be in such hot water after this, I’ll have you know.”

Tom grinned.  “That’s what you get for being my friend.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be your friend, then,” said Kira.  She stuck out her tongue.

“Ha, ha.  So, what has been keeping you busy?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re all outside together.  No sense in saying it twice.  Now, can I trust you not to break Mother’s dishes?”

*  *  * 

It turned out that Tom could be a good worker if he truly wanted to.  They finished the household duties in thirty minutes, and would have done the garden as well if Mother had not been out working there herself.

“We’ll have to try the window again,” said Tom.  “Say, do you have any water pails about?”

Kira nodded, suppressing the urge to groan, and found a bucket.  Tom tossed it out the window, then, standing on Kira’s bed (thankfully not near the book but still dirtying the sheets), wriggled out of it himself.  Kira handed her crutch to him and he pulled her through.  “How much would you bet that Roly couldn’t fit through here?” he said.

“You couldn’t make me bet a farthing for that; I’d lose,” said Kira.  She shut the window behind her.  “How did you know how to open the window from outside?”

Tom shrugged.  “Experience.”

From atop the smial, Rosemary Proudfoot looked down on the pair and smiled.  She did not know what kind of mischief her daughter was getting into, but at least she was acting like a regular hobbit.

 *  *  *

After a reunion that was rather soggy to say the least, Kira, Daffodil, Roly, and Tom sat down for a small snack in the Burrows’ pantry.

“That was not a very nice welcome you gave us,” said Daffodil, placing a dripping tendril of hair behind her ear.

“It wasn’t a welcome,” said Tom brightly.  “It was a warning not to leave for so long.”

“Then why didn’t you ‘warn’ Kira after she was away?” said Roly.

“Tom,” added Daffodil, “if this is how you treat your friends I should think our family would remove itself to Little Delving and stay there permanently.  And you, Kira—I’d expect something like this out of Tom, but you…”

“I was bribed,” Kira said.  “I had let my work fall behind.”

“What could you have been doing with Tom that was so important?  It’s not like you, not to do your chores.”

“She didn’t do anything with me,” said Tom.  “She was inside for three full days, and I wanted to find out what was going on, and she promised to tell me.  Didn’t you, Kira?”

Kira sighed, resigned to her fate.  “I was reading.”

Roly dropped the biscuit he had been eating, compelled back into the conversation.  “You were what?”

Daffodil went white.  “Oh, dear.”

Tom just looked at Kira.

“I got the book while Mum and I were in Westmarch.  The funeral wasn’t very far from Undertowers, and they have a Library there.”

“You can read?” said Tom.

“Only since last winter.”

“She learned it off one of the Brandybucks,” said Daffodil.  “I thought you weren’t going to read except when you were stuck in bed, Kira.”

“I’m sorry,” Kira said, bewildered.  “That was the plan, but then I wanted to learn more about that mail-coat, because I knew that was true, but then I suppose I just got carried away and kept on reading…”

Judging by her friends’ expressions, Kira was not making sense, much less garnering any support from them.

“Am I doing anything wrong?”

Daffodil remained pale, but she shook her head.  Roly surreptitiously picked up his food and resumed eating.  Finally Tom spoke.  “No, nothing wrong, Kira.  I was… I was just shocked, is all.  My dad can read, of course—you need someone in the house to look at the post—but it’s still a queer thing.”  He broke out into a sudden laugh.  “I knew some notions had entered your head, Kira.”

*  *  * 

Kira did not read again for several days.  She needed to get her mind off the book, to sort things out and not get caught up in that frightening fever as before.  She played outside with her friends in the fine weather, and she carried out her chores as mistress of the smial when Mother took the first clippings of parsley and savoury to the market in town.  When she was doing neither, cautiously she puzzled out what she had read.

Many of the questions that she had had were answered to an extent.  If Bilbo Baggins had been fool enough to use his ring in front of 144 people, of course they would think him mad!  But no, she countered, for that would mean that the ring was real.  But how else could those tales have been created if he couldn’t disappear?  Or did the story arise from the older Mad Baggins tales; did Frodo want to include a bit of folklore in his own attempt at a story?  Why, this tale was even wilder than the first!  And so frightening…

Maybe leaving the Shire did something to your heart, made it dark and come up with all sorts of strange ideas that no ordinary hobbit would dream of.  That such an evil thing could come to the Shire was unthinkable.  It was too preposterous to be true, but where on earth did he get his ideas?  You think too much, Kira, she decided.  Just read and enjoy them—they’re only Travellers’ Tales, after all.

A few days after Kira had resumed reading the book, firmly determined to put any questions that entered her head out of mind, came Dr. Grimwig’s regular visit.  He was the practitioner for Michel Delving chiefly these day, since he was now well into his nineties, but he had long been friends of the family and had a special agreement with Mother to visit Kira every other month—for free, in return for getting whatever medicinal herbs he needed at a reduced rate.

Mother usually offered him tea whenever he came over, and prepared the tea and accompaniments while the doctor examined Kira.  This occasion was no different, as the doctor, complete with a medicine bag and a bald spot, sat down on a stool across from Kira and had her stick out her right foot.  He drew out of his bag a small metal rod and began to poke at various places, asking how it felt.

He prodded at her little toe; Kira shook her head.  She could feel nothing.  A few of the other toes could feel the cold of the metal, but hardly.

He laid the rod across the flat of her foot and pressed in.  Kira gasped in sudden pain.  “So sorry,” said Dr. Grimwig, “do tell me whenever it hurts too much.”

“It’s all right,” Kira said.  It had only hurt for a second.  As he worked his way back to the heel the ball felt almost as bad, the heel only somewhat.  He took out a bit of charcoal and a bit of paper, and wrote some notes that Kira suddenly wanted to read.

Then he took her foot in both hands, feeling as carefully for the placement of bones as he could.  Finally he began to rub the toes, trying to stimulate a little feeling in them.  When he placed the rod on them again, she could feel it a little better than before.  Again he made notes.

“Well?” said Mother.

“Kira’s foot is making as much progress as it can.  The bones near her toes are growing normally, but the rest…”  He shrugged.  “There are some things, Mrs. Proudfoot, that doctors can’t fix.”

“We aren’t asking you to fix Kira, Doctor.”  The kettle whistled and Mother took it off the stove.

“And how does your foot feel on a daily basis, Kira?”

“Much the same as usual, Doctor.  Light enough that I can ignore it, unless I’m tired or sick.”

“Good.  And I received a letter from the doctor at Brandy Hall detailing your condition over there.  From what I understand you became quite ill, did you not?”

“I got a fever and cold,” said Kira.  “But that was only once.”

“Have you gotten ill since?”

“No.  I haven’t felt anything other than the occasional tired spell I get when I’ve been playing too long or walked too far.”

“Excellent,” said the doctor.

Mother spooned some tea into the teapot and filled it with water from the kettle.  “Do you think that the fever affected her at all?  She usually doesn’t get that ill over the winter.”

Dr. Grimwig shook his head.  “Not at the moment, especially since she’s been in good health for about four months now.  I have yet to check her heart, though, and I don’t know how energetic she’s been.  If you would please sit up straight, Miss Proudfoot?”  He drew forth a peculiar-looking wooden column that flared out at both ends, and laid one end over Kira’s heart.  He pressed his ear to the other, listening intently.  “If anything, Kira’s heart seems to have improved since I last saw her,” he said when he was finished.  “And if that is the case, I should like to think that her energy has improved as well.  What do you normally do in a day, Kira?”

“Chores, mostly.”

“List them.”

“It’s not that much—well, Daffy doesn’t think it’s enough, certainly, she complains to me without end—let’s see—I usually have to wash the dishes, and I’ll make some of the lighter meals.  Mother lets me weed a small plot of the garden by myself.  And I help on washing days.  When I don’t have chores, and I’m not eating, I’m out walking or playing.  I have to sit out after twenty minutes, though.”

“Last year you put it closer to a quarter of an hour.”

Kira thought for a moment.  “Come to think of it, I suppose I have managed to go for longer.”

Mother set out cups and poured the tea, then set out a tray of sandwiches and another of biscuits.

“Where’s the farthest you’ve walked?” Dr. Grimwig said, taking up his cup and blowing on it to cool the tea down.

“Oh, we never go further than town—and we’ve managed to get there only stopping twice, now.  They are awfully kind to wait for me, you know.”

Mother fixed her with a look.

“Oh, and I also managed to walk whatever the distance is from Undertowers to High Hole out in Westmarch, all by myself, just this past week.  Though that was awfully tiring and I shan’t do anything like it again for a long time, certainly not alone.”

The doctor raised his eyebrows at whatever story was behind this.  “Have you been doing anything differently from last year?”

“Oh,” said Kira.  “I learned to read over the winter.  I had only meant to do it to pass the time, but all the lettered people I know have been trying to convince me that the Travellers’ Tales are real.  So I’ve been reading some of that in my spare time.”

“Well, I shan’t try to convince you,” said the doctor.  “But reading can be beneficial at some times, for some patients.  It exercises your mind, and, more importantly, it lets your body rest while you’re doing it.  I’ve known some people—hobbits who, say, broke an arm—who were actually able to forget they were hurt while they were reading.  I haven’t the foggiest what they were reading, what could be so good as to distract them from pain, but those folk did recover faster than normal.”

“Are you saying that reading is good for Kira?”  Mother sat down and took a sandwich off the tray.

“No, I’m just setting out an idea.  She certainly is doing better, but whether this is just because she’s older or because she’s doing something differently I don’t know.  If reading makes her happy, I don’t see why she shouldn’t read—it may actually help her.  I once knew a fellow in town—a Bunce, if I’m not mistaken—always complaining, rarely content with anything.  Most unnatural for a hobbit.”  He paused to take a sip of his tea.  “He was my most regular customer for a time, and I’ve often wondered if it had anything to do with his outlook.  Besides, I like it more when folk are happy.”

“So that means you won’t get mad at me if I read, Mum?” said Kira.

“Now, now,” put in Dr. Grimwig, “I wouldn’t suggest that you read all the time, Miss Proudfoot.  In fact,” he added, turning to Kira’s mother, “I suggest that you put all of this lass’s extra energy to use.  Our goal, after all, is for Kira to lead as normal a life as possible.  Let her bake some of the bread, from start to finish, have her help you in the garden more often.  Has she ever accompanied you to town on market days?”

“No.”

“Let her mind the stand, then, if you need a break from selling.  Teach her how to haggle.”

“Do you think she could manage all that?”

“Kira is quite the hobbit, ma’am.  I think she could.”

“I can really go to market, Mother?” Kira said.

“If the doctor says so, which he does.  And if you really think you’re up to it.”

“Just let me tell Daffy and Roly and Tom!”  Kira stood up, grabbing a biscuit and stuffing it into her dress pocket.  “That is, if it’s all right with you, Mum, and the visit’s over.”

“Yes, I do think we’re finished, Kira,” said the doctor, holding out his hand for her to shake.

“Marvellous.  Thank you!”  And with that, Kira Proudfoot picked up her crutch and was out the door in a wink.

*  *  *

“To market?” said Daffodil.

“Does that mean we don’t have to stop for you anymore?” said Roly.

“Yes, and no,” ask Kira.  “It’s not as if I’m suddenly cured, Roly.  And I’m sure,” she added, poking him in the stomach, “that you need those rests as much as I do.”

“Just wait till Tom gets wind of this.  He’ll want to give you the royal tour.”

“I can imagine.  But I will have a job to do, at least some of the time.  Marjoram, parsley, chervil, basil, sage, chives, comfrey, lovage, borage…  I haven’t any idea how I’ll keep them all apart, much less remember their uses or prices.”

“You work with them every day, Kira.  It can’t be that hard.”

“That’s when they’re plants, not clippings.  And then I have to argue for them.”

 “The haggling only gets bad when you get to livestock,” said Daffodil.  “You should’ve seen the time Dad got someone all the way from Nobottle to part with his dairy cow at half price.  Poor chap was red to the ears by the time they settled on a price, but he couldn’t do a thing about it.  No one barters like our dad.”

“Say, where is Tom, anyway?  Tearing up the countryside?”

“More likely tearing up the pasture,” said Roly.  “His family’s behind on the fields, so it’s likely he won’t escape from his duty today.”

Daffodil snorted.  “Serves him right.”  Kira recalled the number of times he had suddenly turned up, soil caked on the hair of his feet, begging them not to tell a soul that he was out there.

“Well, hide-and-seek is rather boring with only three,” said Roly.  “And with Kira, tag’s out.  And before you ask, we are not playing any game that puts me as the baby of the smial that you two mother hens have to take care of.”

“There has to be something we can do,” said Daffodil.  “It’s too fine a day to waste.”

“We could try to catch butterflies.  You still have your net, don’t you?” Kira said.

“Yes, but we are certainly not going to do that.  Last time Roly and Tom took the one I caught—the one I caught—and tied it, with a piece of their own hair, to a tree.  They wouldn’t let me set it free, either.  I had to sneak back in the middle of the night.”

“And a fine surprise that was in the morning, looking for our fine piece of work and finding it fled.”

“I’m out of ideas,” said Kira.  “With your permission, I’ll just go back to my hole and get that book out.”

“Oh, come!  You can’t be that bored yet!”

“You’ve ruined all our ideas for fun, so I can be as bored as I like!”

“I suppose we could play smial if you really wanted to.”

“Excellent!” said Daffodil.  “Roly, you get to be the baby.”

Kira smiled, but she wondered how she was going to get any time to read with all her new chores, if Roly was willing to suffer the indignity of playing the baby just to keep her entertained.  She dreaded to think of the measures Tom would take.

*  *  *

Monday was market day in Michel Delving.  Mother had a small handcart with little holes in the board across the top, in which the herbs were displayed.  There was a method to it: the greenest ones with the largest leaves in front, the stems poking out on the bottom into a tray of water.  The pleasant smelling herbs, the chamomiles and bergamot, were placed in the front, while the more bitter ones went to the back.  That made it easier for Kira to remember which one went where.  They had spent the previous day tying little bunches of herbs together, and they were priced according to their general use: a farthing for cooking herbs; a halfpenny for medicine.  There was no haggling at this stand, it turned out, but later in the day, when Mother went about with her shopping, Kira would get to see it firsthand.

Normally Mother walked to market, having no pony, but since Kira was along they rode with the Burrowses.  Daffodil and Kira talked all the way down, a basket of cuttings in Kira’s lap.  When the Proudfoots alighted Mother led Kira to one of the smaller storage tunnels and opened the door to one of the rooms.  Kira gasped at what she saw in there—it was a small room, but it was larger than she expected, for it did not just house the cart.  There were, inside, a great number of objects caked in dust, that she could barely make out in the morning light.  A chest of drawers, a baby’s cradle, a huge double bed—a set of five tarnished spoons.  It was like a second, smaller Mathom House, but with no captions and no visitors.  She craned her head in for a better look, but Mother motioned her to follow her out, wheeling the cart with both hands.  She set Kira’s basket on top, and closed the door without a word of explanation.

Kira reluctantly left the building, following her mother, and took her basket back.  They set up the stand next to a grocer’s stall; across the lane through the stream of passing hobbits she could see meats hanging up.  Kira shoved bunches of herbs into their slots as she watched the butcher’s first customers walk up.

Mother was all geniality today, knowing that her own disposition affected sales as much as the quality of her produce.  Kira was quite the conversation piece: “Why, hello there, Mrs. Diggle—yes, I do have a helper today.  This is Kira, my daughter—you remember her from the Free Fair last year, perhaps?  Kira, if you would hand this fine lady two bunches of healall and one of sorrel?  That’s a good lass—and will you be wanting anything else?”

It went on like this, as Kira’s mother conversed with countless hobbit wives whom Kira had never heard of or barely remembered from some distant party Ages ago.  They all could remember her, though—oh, that poor little crippled girl.  She could distinct hear a few of them sighing and shaking their heads as they walked away from the stand, muttering something about “that hapless family.”

Kira did little besides hand out herbs and refill any slots that were starting to look empty.  Rosemary Proudfoot, herb seller, did get quite a bit of business, especially from midwives and mothers—or children sent by their mums on errands.  At one point in the morning a hobbit with dark brown hair walked up to the stand, blushing furiously as she asked what kind of herbs went best with chicken.  As Mother talked with her the story became clear—she had gotten married only last Friday and hadn’t the faintest idea how to prepare a meal her husband would truly enjoy.

Mother laughed.  “Well, he’s a hobbit; he can’t be too hard to please.”

The customer laughed as well, but she couldn’t shake the worry from her face.  “But supposing he—”

“Well, surely you know his favourite foods if you’ve gone and married him.”

“I do, but—”

Mrs. Proudfoot silenced her with a look.  “I’ll keep my advice short because I know you’ve already received too much.  Whenever you cook, no matter who you’re cooking for—even if it’s the King himself—make sure that your dish is delicious without herbs.  Only then should you try adding things: the cook who needs herbs, or sauces, or anything else to cover up the flavour of the food can’t cook well to begin with.  And if your husband doesn’t like your cooking, which I can assure you will not be the case, you can always have him cook for you and show you how he likes his meals.”

The hobbit laughed again and thanked Mother for her advice.

“Now, as far as chicken goes, you can’t go wrong with sage.  And I’d try adding a little summer savoury to that and some thyme—thyme always goes well with poultry.”

“Thank you,” said the customer, but she was at a loss as to what the herbs looked like on the stalk.  Kira smiled, having gotten the sense of herb placement a couple hours back, and handed her the bunches.  Mother accepted the payment and the hobbit moved on.

“Do you do this sort of thing every week, Mum?” said Kira once she was out of sight.

“Not always, dear, but fairly often.  There’s always a fresh face or two in a town as big as Michel Delving.”

“Lawks,” said Kira.  She wondered how she was ever going to manage being a grown-up.

Mother saw the look of awe and apprehension on Kira’s face.  “All in good time, love, all in good time.”

Not long after noon an all too familiar face peeked over the top of the stand, demanding to give Kira a “grand tour of the market.”  Mother had been expecting this, fortunately, and let Kira join Tom, with a parting admonition that they were to be back in no more than two hours, and that Kira was to be permitted to rest if she grew tired.  Tom nearly dragged Kira out from behind the stand.  “I don’t believe I was asked if I wanted a ‘grand tour,’” she said.

“But this is your first time to a market.  How could you not want a grand tour?”

“Actually, Daffy and I thought it’d be a royal tour.”

Tom snorted.  “Royalty’s for Big Folk.  Where do you want to start?”

Kira felt him tug at her left hand.  “I want to start by finding our friends.  No use in having you get me into all sorts of trouble alone.”

“Oh, we’re saving the trouble for next week.  No need to give you a bad impression of town, not yet.”

“We’re still finding the Burrowses first.”

Suddenly Tom was shoved from behind; forgetting to let go of Kira’s hand he nearly pulled her over.

“No need;” said Roly, “we’re already here.”

“We had wanted to get to you before Tom found you, Kira,” said Daffodil.  “We didn’t want you two haring off without us.”

“I wasn’t going to let that happen,” replied Kira, “although I can’t say the same for Tom.”

“Well, that’s settled, then.  I’m sure we’ve all been looking forward to this tour of yours, Tom.  Lead the way!”

It was all too much for Kira to take in on a first visit.  Certainly she had been to town before, and to parties and a few fairs, but this was quite different.  This happened every week, and while the fairs always had at least seven times the stores and merchants, they came from all over the Farthing and beyond.  Besides, Kira had spent so little time at the fairs that she had hardly seen anything.  Now she could actually take her time.

Traditionally everything would have been set up on the green in the centre of town, but Michel Delving was larger than that.  Long ago hobbits had begun to build houses and sheds alongside what had been paths leading between family tunnels, and eventually this had spilled out onto the green as well.  Out of tradition they had saved the green from total domestication, but it was now too small to house any events other than the occasional family picnic, and all the parties were held in the event field just north of town.  The market was spread out throughout the streets of the village.

And oh, the things there were to buy!  The Grocer’s Lane, where Mother’s herbs were, was only one of the many places to purchase food.  There were poulterers with live hens for sale, butchers with freshly-made country sausage, cress, spinach, rocket, young peas, dried beans of all varieties, and giant plump fruits that Kira had not seen since the fall.  There was freshly milled flour for bread.  There was a stand where pipes were sold, and all manner of leaf up from the Southfarthing.  There were even a few stands of something called “im ports” where one could buy tea and coffee and salt and blue paper cones of fine white sugar.  It was very difficult to keep Roly away from a particular stand that sold hot berry tarts, especially since the smell carried far on the wind.

But there was not just food at the market.  There was a smith mending someone’s teakettle.  There was a carpenter’s table, displaying a few chairs and coat racks and other useful items.  There was a tanner selling gloves, saddles, and harnesses.  There was rope for tethering livestock.  A gardener had chosen a few select blooms and was selling them to the townsfolk, for some of the houses directly in town had no gardens at all.

The dry goods, as well as a number of the other inedible commodities, were accessed by crossing the Ash on one of its three bridges, and here was Kira the most amazed.  There were lace and ribbons, and there were needles and pins and brightly coloured floss, and there were straw hats and bonnets.  There were bolts of cloth—ordinary muslin and linen in the usual creams and greens and browns and yellows hanging outside, but inside one of the stores she could see finer fabrics that looked soft even through the glass panes.  There were all sorts of shades of green and gold in there, more than Kira knew could be dyed, but there were also other colours, colours that Kira had only seen in flowers or on party dresses—and even then, worn only by a few.  There was a blue the shade of forget-me-nots that, while pretty, Kira doubted she (or anyone else she knew for that matter) could ever look good in, and a lavender that was even more beautiful and even less practical, and there was a beautiful shade of pink just the colour of clouds at sunset.  And far in the back, like the distant memory of a dream, there was a bolt of fabric of the purest white.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” whispered Daffodil from Kira’s right.  “Mum says when I turn twenty-seven we can get the fabric for my party outfit from here.”  And turning away from the fabric shop, the lasses caught up with the boys who had long since moved ahead.

They were arguing about something.  “No, I’m not going in there with you!” said Roly.

“Look, it’s only at the corner.”

“It doesn’t matter how nearby it is!  That isn’t the problem!  The problem is that you’re sixteen—”

“Almost seventeen—”

“—and you won’t make it two steps into the door before someone calls you out!”

“Well, you’ll be going with me.”

“No, I won’t!  Only you’d be so stupid as to try and walk in the Oak Barrel!”

“What?” said Kira.

“What?” said Daffodil.

“Look, I thought—” began Tom.

“I thought,” said Kira, “that there wasn’t to be any trouble this week, that you’d save it all for next Monday.”

“But you see, that’s the thing—there isn’t going to be any trouble.”

“Not for us, there won’t.  But why would you even want to go in, if there’s no trouble?”  Roly knew Tom very well.

“I don’t know…  I’ve never been in the common room of an inn before.  I don’t even know what it looks like!”

“Well, at least you’ve realised that you’re going in alone.”  The three children, as if by mutual consent, began to walk towards the building at the street corner

Tom naturally followed them.  “What?  I never said—what, isn’t anyone interested in the Oak Barrel?”

They were at the door of the inn.  “Don’t go in water deeper than you can wade, Tom,” said Daffodil.

“I’ll bet Kira’d go in.  She’s inquisitive enough to spend hours staring at a book!”

“No, Kira would not go in,” replied Kira.  “Inquisitive or not.  I’m a lass, and I know when things are stupid.”

Tom walked up to the door, mumbling something about the loyalty of friends, and opened it.  Fifteen seconds later he came out, red in the face.

“Did you get to see anything?” said Roly.

“No.”

“What did they say?”

“No admittance unless accompanied by a hobbit thirty-three or older.”

“Hah!  I told you!”

“So you did,” Tom said, looking none too pleased.

“Oh, and Tom?” said Kira.

“Yes?”

“I’ve only spent hours staring at a book once, and I don’t intend to do it again.”  They turned away from the inn, ready to head back to Mother’s stand, when the shop across the street caught Kira’s eye.  It was one of the few that bothered to have a sign with words, though it appeared more shops and stands had them on this street than the others.  “Stationery,” it read.  Kira had no idea what it meant.  She went to the window, ignoring where the others were trying to walk, and peered in.  There was paper—beautiful creamy white paper, and glass bottles of what had to be ink.  Black ink, brown ink, several bottles of red, and far away at the end of the line, gold!  And on top of the sheaves of paper there was an inkwell, with a spotless white quill resting in it.

Daffodil was calling her name.  She turned to go, but ran face first into a fat belly covered with a silk waistcoat.  “Sorry!” she cried and ran to catch up with her friends.

“What were you doing?”

“Looking at things.”

“Didn’t you see who you ran into?”

“What?  Was it someone important?”

“Someone important?  That was the Mayor!”

“The Mayor?  Should I go back and apologise?”

“You can’t do anything now.  What were you looking at?”

It was Kira’s turn to go red.  “Paper and ink,” she said.

Daffodil just shook her head as they walked back to the Grocer’s Lane.  A few more hours and it would be time to head home.