.oOo.
The miller, engorged in a livery too small for him, belabored the onlookers who encumbered bagshot row and hindered his carriage's way. Otho, sitting on the bench covered with crimson velvet, took up bored poses in his mint gray frock coat with gold buttons. His wife at his side, hiding her outrageous makeup behind a trendy fan, shone with bright taffeta and iridescent silks. But it was the shrew's cape that held all the attention: one would have said the hairy reply, of these solitary mountains erected at the end of the known world, the legends of which Bilbo had revived.
A crowd had gathered in front of the large gate, just opened at the bottom of the party field. The hobbits parted in amazement at the cart, pompously bedecked with frilly garlands. Some jeers fluttered, but Lobelia strutted and ordered the lackey to "operate the footstool." The said lackey - the miller's son, dressed just like his father - arranged a cushion on a box of carrots, and the worthy couple was able to get off its "coach" to enter Bag-End.
Rumors had circulated that Father Sandyman had sold his mill, but so far it was unclear who might be the buyer. Henceforth no more doubt was allowed. But for the moment this news was left aside - with the speculations that would ensue – so ridiculous were the attempts of the Sackville-Baggins to "put on airs".
Bilbo, as usual, was charming and polite in welcoming them to the gate, although Lobelia had little taste for his compliment about her "majestic meringue".
.oOo.