"Sing us a story, daddy!"
Sam laughed. "Alright. Only one, though. Then, off to bed."
All the little hobbits nodded their heads and gathered around. I stayed in my chair in the corner. I was long past the age of sitting on the floor when a story was told to the little hobbits.
Sing me a story of heroes of the Shire,
muddling through, brave and true.
Stubborn as bindweed and tough as old brier,
never too showy or grand.
Year after year they persevere,
now and for always.
Some of the little ones began to nod off, but Sam continued singing.
Harfoots who planted, and Stoor folk who ploughed,
bred to endure, slow but sure.
Fallohide blood in your veins makes you proud,
sturdy and steady they stand.
True to their aim to stay the same,
now and for always.
Sam looked over to me as he began the chorus. He knew I would remember hearing my father's voice singing along with his.
Sit by the firelight's glow,
tell us an old tale we know.
Tell of adventures strange and rare,
never to change,
ever to share.
Stories we tell will cast their spell,
now and for always.
All the little hobbits except the older ones were fast asleep. The adults began to pick up their children and leave. The oldest ones wanted to stay to the end of the story, so some of the little hobbits were laid across laps while the adults talked.
Sing me a story of Frodo and the ring.
Fearless and bold,
tired and cold.
Sword at his side,
an elf blade called Sting,
crossing a miserable land.
Wouldn't retreat,
just followed his feet,
now and for always.
I stood and walked over to Sam as he sang the chorus, and I joined in singing.
Sit by the firelight's glow,
tell us an old tale we know.
Tell of adventures strange and rare,
never to change,
ever to share.
Stories we tell will cast their spell,
now and for always.
Sam usually would have stopped singing after that verse, but I continued it for him. Some of the adults were surprised. None of them had heard the last verse since my father had sat and sang with them years ago.
Sing me a tale of the bravest of them all.
Comrade and guide, at my side.
Stouthearted Sam, who wouldn't let me fall,
holding my life in his hand.
True to the end, no finer friend,
now and for always.
When I finished the verse, Sam started up the chorus one last time, and I saw he had tears welling up in his eyes.
Sit by the firelight's glow,
tell us an old tale we know.
Tell of adventures strange and rare,
never to change,
ever to share.
Stories we tell will cast their spell,
now and for always.
The song was finished, and all the little hobbits were asleep. I helped Uncle Sam carry his little ones to bed, and went back to my chair by the fire. I was nearly half finished with his Christmas gift and I wanted to have it finished by the next party.
"Mar, can I talk to you," Sam asked as he walked back into the room.
I nodded, and finished off the stitch I was on. "Yes, Uncle Sam?"
"You've heard me sing that story at every party since you were little. Why did you only just today sing along with it?"
"I really don't know, Uncle Sam." I paused for a moment. "Maybe it was so the whole story wouldn't be forgotten. The little hobbits haven't heard that last part, and I couldn't let the older ones forget it existed."
Sam smiled. "You're a sweet girl, Mar."