A Child's Judgment
Peony Burrows struggled to carry her basket, hold her one-year-old son, and hold her daughter's hand all at once. She stumbled through the market, her four-year-old daughter in tow. Her basket was swinging on her forearm, slowly sliding down toward her daughter Myrtle. Her son, Minto, would occasionally point at something new to him and make a noise that sounded very close to: "What's that?"
It made Peony giggle as she remembered when Myrtle was only two years old. She would find all kinds of new rocks, sticks, and toys. Often she would hold them up to her parents and demand: "What's this? What's this?" Of course, Myrtle would still do that, but she was less demanding. Honestly, Peony missed it…
The market place was busy that afternoon. The crowd of hobbits made Peony a little nervous. She grasped her daughter's hand tightly.
"Mama," Myrtle said. "I don't like you grasping my hand like that…it hurts…"
"Sorry darling," Peony tried to reassure her daughter. "I don't want to lose you."
Finally, Peony was standing in line for fabrics. She needed to make a party dress for Myrtle. She was going to let her daughter pick out the color she wanted. Peony had to let go of her daughter's hand and re-adjust herself. She slid under Minto and let it hang on her arm she was holding him with, that way the basket wouldn't slide and hit Myrtle. She took a deep breath and stood contently for a moment. She looked down to check on her daughter. She gasped when she realized the four-year-old had disappeared. She looked around in a panic and sighed in relief when she spotted her.
Myrtle stood and stared curiously at an elderly hobbit. He sat on a small stool, smoking his pipe, and looking quite solemn. She recognized him as the grumpy old Brown. His wife had passed away recently, and he had been a grouch ever since.
"Myrtle," Peony called out to her daughter. Myrtle either ignored her mother or hadn't heard her. "Myrtle," Peony called out a little louder. Myrtle still ignored her and kept her attention toward the Old Brown. She seemed to be talking to him. Peony didn't want to move and lose her spot in line. She sighed in frustration and walked over to fetch her daughter. She was slightly afraid to talk to the Old Brown, but she might as well apologize for her daughter. She grasped Myrtle's hand and looked at the old hobbit. He looked back up at her with tired, brown eyes.
"I'm sorry if my daughter was taunting you." Peony said. Suddenly, the Old Brown smiled at her.
"No harm done," He said in his gruff voice. "Your daughter's a healer." He stood up, leaning on his cane, and marched happily through the market place as if he had been given a burst of energy.
Peony turned to her daughter. She was ready to scold her daughter for wandering away, or for talking to a stranger. But she paused as Myrtle looked up at her with unreadable brown eyes.
"Why?" Peony's other questions faded and she could only think of one word.
"He was sad, Mama…" Myrtle said. "He needed a friend…"
Peony remembered he had looked very sad ever since he lost his wife…
"I'm sorry Mama," Myrtle said, hanging her head.
"Oh…" Peony wasn't sure what to say. She thought about how the Old Brown walked away, a changed hobbit. He was happy once again, all because Myrtle reached out to him.
"No," Peony said. "It's all right. It's just that…I was startled…that's all." The Old Brown was actually right. Myrtle was a healer. When she started walking, she also gave the best hugs that could cure the common cold. Peony smiled at her daughter, took her hand and led her to the back of the line. She still needed those fabrics for her party dress.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Lord of the Rings Characters. The Old Brown… I had to create him for the story. I hope you enjoyed! Leave a review!