Chapter the Sixth. In which a Young Hobbit saves Bilbo from himself
The most difficult part of their departure had not been persuading Paladin to lie down, well-bundled, in the shelter Bilbo had formed for him in the bed of the waggon. Working by lantern-light in the darkness of the winter morning after they’d finished eating Eglantine’s hearty early breakfast, he’d propped up blankets using four tall stools he’d borrowed from the Green Dragon some time ago (and had forgot to return; he was hoping Paladin would not mind carrying the stools back to their owner on his way back to Whitwell after Yule) and securely fastened oilcloths over all. He’d secured a lantern under each stool, lit the wicks and watched over them burning for a good half hour before he was satisfied that the stools were tall enough to prevent the heat rising from the top of the lanterns from setting their seats – or the blankets covering them – afire.
‘Balin could not have contrived something better, Bilbo old lad,’ he muttered to himself at last. He was rather proud of his invention. He’d been fascinated in his youth by tinkers’ vans, which were basically waggons with walls and a roof. In a country where most of the dwellings were delvings, a house that could be driven from place to place was a novelty.
The pavilions hired by wealthy hobbits for grand occasions had also drawn his interest. These large canvas structures had flaps that could be raised to let the breezes through in warm weather or, alternatively, could be enclosed and warmed with braziers if the weather turned rainy or chilly. Again, Bilbo had been struck by the contrast between these temporary shelters, looking like giant birds perched in a meadow and likely to take wing at any time, and the walls made of solid rock (or wood, in some cases) that enclosed the smials typically found in the Shire, though Bag End was something of an exception to the rule.
He realised he’d been thinking aloud when young Pimpernel, who had followed him about, peppering him with questions throughout the process of creation, asked, ‘But what makes Bag End special, then?’
Bag End had unusually large rooms and high ceilings (quite convenient, considering the height of some of the folk who visited on occasion), for Bungo had spared no expense (and his wife-to-be, after an argument with her father, had thrust her inheritance into his hands and insisted he spend it freely) in building the smial. Bungo’s beloved, Belladonna, had grown up in the Great Smials, one of the grandest holes in the Shire, equalled perhaps only by Brandy Hall in Buckland (for size) and Budge Manse in Bridgefields (for elegance). Why, the Great Smials’ great room, the largest in the land, was large enough to accommodate all of the resident Tooks at once, plus distinguished guests, for a banquet or celebration or solemn convocation! (Though they might have to tuck in their elbows to fit, Bilbo thought to himself rather irreverently.)
Bungo had not wanted his bride to feel cramped in her new home, and so all he’d built had been on a grand scale, with taller than average ceilings and large, airy rooms. He had no ambitions to turn Bag End into a grand hole; his goal was a habitation that would accommodate the hobbits of a single Shire family rather than dozens or even hundreds of relations, yet still comfort his bride with familiar spaciousness.
In addition, because Belladonna had a horror of closed-in places, her husband had carefully chosen a building site with a southern exposure. All along Bag End’s southern face, he’d included large windows to create sun-drenched rooms and contrived awnings that could be hung over the windows for shade in the summertime without sacrificing light and air.
‘Bag End on wheels, now there’s an interesting idea,’ Bilbo murmured, rocking back and forth on his heels with his hands in his pockets.
His small shadow, young Nell Took, said eagerly, ‘Are you going to put all of Bag End on our waggon?’ She’d followed him everywhere as he’d converted her family’s waggon into a pavilion-of-sorts on wheels, peppering him with an unending stream of questions. ‘But that would take magic! Is your Wizard coming to tea?’
Bilbo bent to address her. ‘No, my Wizard is not coming to tea, sadly enough,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid we must manage it ourselves, just you and I.’
Nell tilted her head to one side in serious consideration. ‘You’ll have to do it, then. I don’t have that kind of magic,’ she said at last.
Eyebrows raised, Bilbo said, ‘But you do have some kind of magic?’
Nell nodded. Bilbo waited in vain for more.
After a few breaths, he said, ‘And what kind of magic is it that you have, young hobbit?’
She squinted up at him, squinched her nose, and said, ‘That would be telling!’
Nor had the most difficult part of their departure been creating his pavilion-on-wheels or packing up a bag for himself or making sure all the bedroom doors were propped open for Mrs Goodbody’s attention while he was gone (it would have been pointless to leave her a note with instructions since she’d never learnt to read) or setting Eglantine and Pearl to work making quantities of sandwiches to eat along the way since they would need to drive straight through so as not to miss the festivities at Brandy Hall and cause Paladin to break his longstanding vow to his sister.
No, but the most difficult part of their departure had been convincing Eglantine to leave the washing up after they finished second breakfast and prepared to depart for Buckland, just as the Sun was kicking off her bedcovers to start the task of brightening the sky above the Hill. He’d had to argue long and hard with her on that point. ‘I’ll let her know we’re leaving when I drop off the key as we pass through Hobbiton.’
‘But you gave her the Yuledays off!’ Eglantine said.
‘And long and hard I had to argue with her to do so!’ Bilbo said. ‘You might have thought I was taking bread out of the mouths of her children... For you see, the more work I make for the Goodbodys, the more coin I must pay them.’ At her stunned expression, he said mildly, ‘But isn’t that the right thing to do?’
‘You don’t simply pay them a set fee for their services?’ Eglantine said, and immediately apologised for having the temerity to tell him his business.
‘But I do,’ Bilbo said. ‘And yet, when I leave extra work for them to do, it seems only right to pay them more on top of the set fee...’
‘I never heard of such a thing,’ Eglantine said, and then apologised again, then looked away. At last, on meeting Bilbo’s questioning gaze once more, she said, ‘I suppose you learnt such things in the Outlands. I beg your pardon, Cousin...’
‘You have it,’ Bilbo said promptly. ‘I did learn it in the Outlands – the Wilds of Buckland, actually. Old Gorbadoc set a generous table. No matter how many visitors might appear on his doorstep, there was always plenty... and on festive occasions and celebrations, he paid his kitchen and serving staff more because he knew he’d made more work for them. And because he appreciated their efforts, they worked even harder.’ He raised a staying hand and added, ‘It’s not that I think the Goodbodys need to work harder for their own good, much less mine, so much as I know they need the coin but will not accept anything they feel they have not earned.’ And now I’m gossiping just as appallingly as a Took of the Great Smials! he thought to himself, his expression darkening. For shame!
Eglantine had the good grace to blush and drop her eyes, for she and Paladin were much the same. After he’d returned from his travels, Bilbo had offered to buy Adalgrim, Paladin’s father, free of his debt to Thain Fortinbras, incurred by Paladin’s grandfather in the wake of a disastrous flood. Fortinbras wasn’t the problem; Mistress Lalia was, for she enjoyed wielding power over those indebted to her husband.
Nevertheless, despite his family’s reduced circumstances, Adalgrim had his pride. Though he’d made the offer to spite Lalia, Bilbo’s actions had opened a rift that had persisted until Adalgrim’s death.
Bilbo’s intentions to mend the rift now seemed to be hovering at the edge of a disastrous cliff.
And then young Pimpernel spoke. ‘O’ course hobbits ought to be paid for all the work they do!’ she said. ‘Isn’t that the whole reason for working?’
Bilbo smiled down at the questioning face raised towards him. ‘O’ course,’ he said. ‘Though, young miss, some hobbits simply work for the pleasure it gives them to do so! My father was one of those.’
‘My da is too,’ the child said confidingly. ‘If he were so rich he didn’t need to work, why, he’d work anyhow!’
‘He would indeed,’ Bilbo confirmed.
‘He loves the farm,’ Eglantine said, almost apologetically.
‘As he should,’ Bilbo said with a firm nod. ‘Why, his grandfather, and his father and uncle, and Paladin himself have taken the land and wrestled it and cosseted it and cared for it until it is one of the finest farms in the Tookland!’
‘Why thank you, Cousin,’ Paladin said from the doorway to Bag End. And somehow the threatened breach seemed to diminish to insignificance with Bilbo’s acknowledgement of Paladin’s very real reason for his Tookish pride.
Out of the mouths of babes, he thought. Perhaps the child’s magic is her grasp of Truth.
After further thought, Bilbo nodded to himself. Small Nell did have a charming habit of dropping unvarnished observations that had a keen enough edge to make the adults around her squirm. He wondered if this might be a characteristic of children who were young enough to retain a sense of wonder. Most adult hobbits, in his view, were dull as ditchwater, to tell the truth, and he had fallen into the habit of associating with his relations primarily on holidays – special days of feasting and storytelling and song, when even the adults tended to loosen the constraints that bound them in their everyday affairs. Belatedly, Bilbo realised that the Great Holes also abounded with children, teens and tweens during times of celebration. In retrospect, youthful energy and enthusiasm certainly livened up the festivities, from what he remembered of past visits.
Looking into the matter might prove quite interesting.
Somehow Paladin seemed more relaxed in Bilbo’s presence from that time forward. And best of all, Eglantine dropped her argument against leaving the washing-up and tidying for Mrs Goodbody and her children.
***