28. Beware of Bracegirdles Bearing Bargains

October 2, 1392

Frodo Baggins was walking briskly along the dusty lane south of Hobbiton. He had been invited to tea by Folco Boffin, and now he was on his way home. Frodo enjoyed these solitary walks; it gave him the opportunity to pretend he was off in some distant corner of Middle Earth, having an adventure with Bilbo, or with Merry or Sam.

The autumn sky was a beautiful pale blue, but a cold breeze blew forcefully, ruffling Frodo’s dark curls and making his coattails flap against his legs. Frodo turned around to look behind him and paused to admire the swirl of fallen leaves caught in an updraft. He did enjoy a good, brisk breeze.

Frodo continued along the road, gazing curiously at the corn fields that spread out to his left. He could not recall which hobbits worked the farms along here, although he was certain Bilbo had told him once.

After coming round a bend, Frodo encountered a rather unusual bump in the road: there was a very small hobbit lass sitting in the middle of the lane, placidly removing petals from a wildflower and putting them carefully in her apron pocket. She had curly light brown hair, and, beneath her heavily starched apron, a dress that might have been red before it got covered in road dust.

Frodo glanced around quickly but could see no adult nearby, so he walked over to address the child. “Er, hullo,” he said when the little girl looked up. “Are you lost?”

The child shook her head and resumed dismantling the flower in her chubby hand. Frodo noticed she had several others in another pocket, ready to receive the same treatment, presumably.

“What’s your name, lass?” Frodo persisted.

The little girl looked at Frodo finally, but didn’t seem perturbed by the presence of a tweenager she did not know. “Rosie,” she said at last, then went determinedly back to work on the hapless flower.

“Do you live nearby, Rosie?” Frodo asked, hoping she hadn’t wandered very far.

Rosie nodded her head without looking up.

Frodo sighed, wondering how he was to get the information he needed. “Do your parents know where you are?” He received only a perplexed look. “How old are you?” He was shown eight chubby fingers for an answer. Well, eight certainly wasn’t old enough to be wandering about alone.

“Can you show me where you live, Rosie?” Frodo asked finally.

Rosie looked regretfully down at the wilting, partly de-petalled stem in her hand.

“You may bring that with you,” Frodo assured her hastily. “Here, I’ll even help you with... er, whatever it is you’re doing.”

Rosie got quickly to her feet at this generous offer and handed Frodo a slightly crushed flower from her pocket.

Frodo stood staring at it for a moment, wondering what little Rosie could have against the cheerful blooms, and then he was seized by a small, chubby hand and dragged impatiently up the road.

They turned into a lane on the left and walked up a distance before Rosie halted and pointed to a hobbit working in the field, his curly hair just visible over the rows of corn.

“Is that your father?” Frodo asked the child.

Rosie looked at him as though he were the biggest simpleton she had ever seen. The little girl nodded slowly.

Frodo grinned a bit self-consciously. He remembered Merry well at this age, but he was certain his cousin had never been quite so... disdainful.

Well, no matter. “Good day, sir!” Frodo called to the farmer in the field. The hobbit looked up, surprised, and made his way over to Frodo.

“Good day, er—?” The farmer, a brown-haired fellow of about fifty, looked curiously at Frodo.

“Oh—Frodo Baggins, at your service,” Frodo said with a quick bow.

“Tolman Cotton at yours,” the farmer replied, regarding Frodo with heightened interest. “What can I do for ye, young fellow?”

Frodo looked down, expecting to see Rosie, but found no one there. “I—Oh! There she is!” Rosie was a few steps away, having spotted, growing at the edge of the lane, yet another flower to dismember.

Farmer Cotton looked in the same direction and caught sight of the child. “Rosie-lass! Did you wander away from your ma again, you naughty girl?”

“I found her down by the road there, and didn’t know where she belonged,” Frodo explained.

“Aye, she’s one of ours,” Farmer Cotton said, scooping up the little girl and tickling her. “Thankee kindly for bringin’ her back,” he continued as Rosie shrieked with laughter. “My Lily has four littl’uns to keep her busy up at the house, and this young lass seems to like wandering off!”

“It was my pleasure,” Frodo replied politely.

Farmer Cotton was still watching him with interest, and Frodo remembered uncomfortably that his adoption by Bilbo was still an intriguing subject for discussion among the denizens of Hobbiton. Just as the farmer opened his mouth to ask something, three more hobbits emerged from the field. Frodo recognized the first as young Tom Cotton, and the others were Hamson and Halfred Gamgee.

Frodo greeted the Gamgees and Tom, and when he found out that the workday was over and the Gamgees were walking home, he agreed immediately to walk with them.

“Have ye got an admirer, Mr. Frodo?” Halfred asked innocently when they were back on the road to the Hill.

Hamson was looking at his brother in disapproval, but Frodo laughed out loud when he realized he still had Rosie’s flower clutched in his hand. “Here, you take it, Halfred,” Frodo retorted mischievously. “I really think Rosie meant it for you.”

“Thankee, Mr. Frodo.” Halfred accepted the crumpled bloom with a solemn bow. “But I reckon it belongs ta Samwise, rightfully. He’s hated that lass for years, ye know, and this might heal the breach.”

“Truly?” Frodo said, surprised. “Rosie seemed a pleasant enough child. What began the dislike?”

“Got molasses in his hair, she did,” Halfred nodded sagely. “A nasty great gob of it.”

“Was it an accident?” Frodo asked curiously.

“Goodness, no!” Halfred replied with a smirk. “Cute as a button is Rosie, but rather a nasty temper, if ye follow me.”

Frodo laughed as Halfred made a show of tucking Rosie’s flower safely away in his coat pocket. Hamson looked shocked by his brother’s presuming to joke with Frodo in such a forward manner, but the eldest Gamgee quickly collected himself when he realized that Frodo was not at all offended.

“Are you packed and ready for your trip, Hamson?” Frodo asked, sensing it was time to change the subject.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I reckon,” Hamson replied.

“Lovely weather for a journey to Tighfield,” Frodo said, thinking enviously of the potential adventures Hamson would have. “I’ve never been, but I hear it’s a good road. When do you leave?”

“On the morrow,” Halfred said grimly, answering for his brother.

Frodo looked at the younger Gamgee sympathetically for a moment, realizing suddenly that not everyone was as enthusiastic about the impending departure as Hamson was. “I haven’t any brothers of my own, but I expect if I did, I wouldn’t much like it when they went away,” Frodo said finally.

“Nor do I,” Halfred mumbled, but he smiled gratefully at Frodo.

“Well, you’ll soon have other matters ta think about, Hal,” Hamson said, also smiling at Frodo. “You see, Mr. Frodo, Farmer Cotton has agreed to apprentice Halfred here—” he proudly clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder “—and teach him all there is ta know about farming. He said he’s never seen a young hobbit with such a knack for tendin’ crops.”

Frodo congratulated Halfred, who was turning red to the tips of his ears. Frodo wished he could have congratulated Hamson as well, for he did not fail to notice the eldest Gamgee’s skilful distraction of his brother.

A few hours later, most of the Gamgees were sitting around the front room, waiting for Largo Bracegirdle to come and collect his silver.

Hamson, however, was in the narrow bedroom shared by the three lads, putting the last of his possessions into his bag. He stared musingly into its depths. He supposed it wasn’t much to show for twenty-seven years, but he was not displeased. Some personal articles, his winter coat and gloves, his three shirts and his extra pair of trousers. Most of the space was taken up by the packet of food his mother had prepared for the five-day journey.

“Are ye thinkin’ up some last words of advice for me, Ham?” Halfred teased, having come in unnoticed.

Hamson grinned and pretended to consider the matter. “Aye, that I am,” he said finally. “And here they are: Take good care o’ your younger siblings. Includin’ Mr. Frodo.”

Halfred laughed. “I wonder what Mr. Frodo would say if he knew you were sitting here callin’ him one of us!”

“I reckon Mr. Frodo would like it all right,” Hamson replied with a smile. “You’d be more concerned with what our Gaffer would say, if you knew what was good for ye.”

“What our Gaffer would say about what?” asked a new voice. Hamson and Halfred looked up to see that Daisy had just wandered in.

“Why, about you laughin’ like a ninnyhammer every time you catch a glimpse o’ poor Mr. Frodo!” Halfred said cheerfully.

Daisy sniffed in distaste. “I’ll have ye know I haven’t done that in ages!” she informed them huffily.

“A month is reckoned to be an age, now, seemingly,” Hamson said to Halfred conversationally.

“Well, I’m not a silly little girl anymore,” Daisy said. “I have me dignity ta think of now, and all!”

Halfred grinned. “That means she’s finally learned that if she doesn’t giggle like a halfwit, Mr. Frodo won’t run the other way,” he said to Hamson. “At any rate, not nearly as often,” he amended, straight-faced.

“You wait ‘til ye need another button sewn on, Halfred Gamgee,” Daisy said threateningly.

Just then, the three children heard a loud knock at the front door, and scrambled quickly back into the main room (the prospect of a visitor being too exciting to miss).

“Good evening, good evening!” Largo Bracegirdle said genially to the assembled hobbits in the front room of Number 3, Bagshot Row. “All ready for your travels, young fellow?” he added when he caught sight of Hamson ducking in from the back room.

“Yes sir, thankee,” Hamson replied politely.

“Glad to hear it. And a fine journey you shall have, my boy,” Largo said enthusiastically before turning to address the Gaffer. “Now, my good sir, I believe we have just the one little matter to settle.”

“Aye,” the Gaffer replied steadily. Bell went to the mantle and took down a small stone jar, which she handed to her husband. Hamfast carefully removed the lid and reached inside with two work-roughened fingers. He drew out two silver coins and handed them to Largo. “I reckon that’s all in order, sir,” Hamfast said gruffly.

Largo took the silver and fingered it slowly. Then he looked up at Hamfast with a perplexed expression on his doughy face. “My dear sir, have you forgotten the terms of our contract?” he said smoothly. “I’m afraid I require the full amount this evening, Mr. Gamgee.”

“I—what’s that you say?” the Gaffer asked, startled.

“The full amount, sir,” Largo pressed. “Four silver coins, as we agreed.”

“Four silver!” Hamfast thundered. “I agreed ta two only, sir!”

“Why, I wouldn’t possibly have agreed to such a low fee,” Largo said very slowly, as though he was concerned the Gaffer didn’t understand him. “I’m afraid you have it all wrong. Perhaps it slipped your mind?”

“I haven’t forgotten what ye said,” Hamfast growled. “I remember ‘two silver,’ clear as day.”

“I’ve the contract right here, if you desire verification.” Largo produced the document with a flourish and laid it out on the table. “Is this not your mark, Mr. Gamgee?” Largo gestured to the ‘X’ on the line at the bottom.

“Aye, it’s mine,” the Gaffer said grimly.

“Yes, exactly. And this contract states that you owe me four silver coins, to be paid tonight. You may have someone you trust read it to you if you wish, but I’m afraid the contract is binding.”

Hamfast Gamgee glared at the merchant, grinding his teeth furiously. He picked up the small money jar and stowed it safely in his pocket. The look of quiet triumph in Largo’s eyes was more than enough to tell the Gaffer he’d been had, and it made his blood boil.

“Very well, sir,” Hamfast ground out. “I know someone who can read this ta me, if you’d care to accompany me.”

Largo looked surprised but nodded agreeably. He rolled up the contract and followed Hamfast out the door. The Gaffer marched straight up the path to Bag End and boldly rang the bell, too angry to worry about propriety, but not too angry to hope that it would be young Frodo who opened the door. The thought of his employer knowing of Hamfast’s humiliation was not to be borne.