"Oh Pearl, I think you must be the perfect hobbit."

Pearl pretended that she hadn't heard what Mungo had last said. After all, he was exclaiming over the lemon scone she had just found in her apron pocket, and she was busy eating it.

He grew bashful at his outburst and contented himself to sit quietly on the bench next to her, twiddling his thumbs and watching the geese landing on the twilit surface of Boggy Pond.

"I know it's been in my pocket all day," Pearl said, remembering her manners, "but would you like a bite of this scone?"

Mungo brightened and took the hunk from her hand. "Gorgeous."

Blast it all, Pearl thought, as crumbs rained down Mungo's front and into his foot-tufts. All she'd wanted was to gather some mint from the pondside for her tea, and along had come Mungo, as he always seemed to do when she ventured out of her hobbit hole, and now he wouldn't leave.

"It's getting dark," he said, dusting off his waistcoat. "What do you say to a nice cup of tea at mine?"

There could be no such thing as a nice cup of tea at Mungo's. His mother and father were notoriously uppity hobbits with airs about who was good enough for their dear darling boy. Mungo was in the process of convincing them that Pearl had that honor, but they still regarded her with narrowed eye and upturned nose.

"Thank you, Mungo," Pearl said, hopping briskly to her feet, curls bouncing. "But I really must be going. I have a prior engagement tonight, you see. I hope you enjoyed the scone."

He stood and offered a quaint bow. "Oh, very much! It was simply the best scone I think I've ever had! It seems your talents are numberless! Do drop by for a cup of tea sometime! Whenever you like!"

Pearl hurried up the path and stopped at home just long enough to spruce her curls in the hall mirror and take her pink shawl from a peg. It would be cool out later walking home from The Green Dragon.

Though she was early to their meeting, Pearl saw one of the hobbits she'd come to meet sitting at the bar, scribbling in a book. Pearl edged her way through the milling hobbitfolk to her sister's side.

The crowd at this modest hour was due to it being Wednesday, and thus quiz night, with mystery prizes that often turned out to be only small tins of hobbit-leaf or folios of the owner's original poetry, but lured quite a number of hobbits all the same.

"Ivy! Here already?"

Her sister was startled and smeared a bit of ink into her short blonde curls as she looked around. "I don't know why I bother," she said, beginning a new conversation about something disagreeable.

Pearl stared at the hobbit sitting next to her sister until he hiccuped and gave up his stool. "What is it this time?" she asked, taking a seat.

The pages of Ivy's book held the dainty scratchwork of her architectural sketches. It seemed she had an addition to their hobbit hole in mind, emerging on the side of the hill that bordered Farmer Duckweed's fields: a cozy-looking stable that almost made Pearl wish she could be a pony and nibble oats under its cheerful gables.

"My ponies need a place of their own, and Farmer Duckweed says no - even though that field has lain fallow forever. He's too old to farm it, why not put it to a good use?"

"What about the festival?" Pearl asked, eager to find a more favorable topic.

Ivy drew herself up and shifted on her seat, patting the bar for service. "That's looking much better. Ham Boffin has his flute band, and Ursula Boggy-Hillocks is going to bake a hundred nut rolls. There are plenty more musical hobbits who I'm sure will take part. I've sent invitations all round to Bywater and Frogmorton."

She flipped her book to a page showing plans for how all the tents and tables of the festival would fit in the South Field.

Pearl thought lovingly of Ursula Boggy-Hillocks's nut rolls as she studied the map. Plenty of hobbits would enjoy a spring festival, if they could get past the scandal of a lady hobbit taking charge of it. And what better to complement the dancing and singing of hobbits than her own honey cakes, and perhaps a good cask of strawberry fizz for the youngsters.

"Where's Ruby?" Ivy asked as the bartender turned a disapproving eye on them.

"She's not come in to work today," he said. "What'll it be?"

"She's always here on quiz night!"

He remained unmoved. An older hobbit, he was of the not unpopular opinion that lady hobbits shouldn't come to a public house unchaperoned, or if they did, it should be to wield pitchers of ale among the proper guests.

"Well, get us two pints of brown ale, please," Pearl said stoutly. That was the way to talk to such a one. Give no quarter.

The bartender moved off to obey, grumbling under his breath.

Ivy closed her book. "I wonder if Ruby's all right. I've become quite friendly with her; do you think it would be all right to drop in on her to say hello?"

"Of course."

Pearl admired her sister's charitable nature, though she wouldn't have felt right imposing on a hobbit that she herself didn't know well. She looked around for a clock.

"Let's find a table. Olivia and Rosie-Posie will be here soon."

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