Sam missed the days that the study was full.  He’d been determined that all his children learn their letters, of course, and though he didn’t ask much more, Elanor kept right up with her studies, and most of the others wanted to keep up with her.

Most of them—Ham was particularly stubborn.

Today, though, there were only two in the study, and Robin didn’t really need to be there.

“All right, now, Tom, what’s this letter again?”

“M!”

“So it makes what sound?”

“Mm—”

“That’s right.  And the next one?”

“A, ah.”

“And after that?”

“T.”

“Now, put them together…”

“Mmaat?  Mat!”

“Very good, Tom.  Now, do you recall the other words in this line?”

“The, fat, cat, on, the, mat.”

Sam nodded encouragingly.

“The fat cat on the mat?”

“Yes, that’s it, my lad!”

“The fat cat on the mat!  Rob, I did it!”

Robin had already thrown his book down, though, and his arms around Tom.  “I knew you could do it!  I just knew you could!”

“And I did do it!”

“We’ll have Mum make us whatever you want for dinner, right, Tom?” said Sam.

Tom nodded eagerly.

“Come on,” said Robin, “let’s tell her and the others.”

As they left the study laughing, a tear came to Sam’s eye.  He’d never felt this proud before in his life—proud of himself, a little, but mostly to his son.  He immediately went to the upright desk and began to dash out letters, even though he was now weeping openly—first to Elanor, then Rosie-lass, Merry-lad, Pippin-lad, and Goldilocks.  Rosie found him before long, though, and they held each other a good long while, listening to the hoots of joy going up around the rest of the smial.

At the tender age of twenty-five, Tom Gamgee was finally learning to read.