An anxious Hamson inspected the appearance of his two younger brothers. His eyes moved up and down Halfred first. The golden curls atop the lad's head were expertly brushed away from his sun tanned face and shone out as the late afternoon sun caught them in its rays. The white cotton shirt he wore was wearing thin in the elbows but was nicely-kept and stood out against the mahogany vest and trousers. A slim, black string tie held the look together around his collar. Then, apparently satisfied, Hamson's gaze fixed itself upon their youngest brother, Samwise. Sam had the same sun-kissed skin and hair as Halfred, although Sam's locks were not as obedient as his brother's and stuck out in a few places. He was dressed in a white shirt and brown trousers that (judging by the stitching) had been owned by a couple of lads before him. His bright yellow vest, however, was noticeably new. Hamson couldn't help but smile at the memory of his mother's most recent birthday when she presented Sam with the vest. In Sam's opinion, the fabric looked as though it was made from the sunshine in 's garden. A tie identical to Halfred's hung loosely around Sam's neck.

"Oh Sam-lad! Your tie isn't straight!" Hamson bent down and began adjusting it. "Now what would the Gaffer think, coming home with and his new heir, to find you looking shabby!"

"But I hate ties!" The youngster retorted. "Why do I have to wear one anyway? The Gaffer comes to Bag End everyday, and he never wears a tie!"

Hamson fought back a smile as he looked upon his stubborn younger brother, whose arms were crossed and whose face bore a frown under his large, soft brown eyes.

"Yes but he's working, it's different then. This is a very special occasion and we need to make a good first impression on the new master." Hamson stood up and studied his work. "There. Now, don't touch it!" he warned. Sam lowered his eyebrows, crossed his slightly chubby arms over his puffed out chest, and shot an irritated look at Hamson, who merely laughed and ruffled Sam's hair. That gesture only added to Sam's annoyance, but he decided to let it go and focused his attention back on the dirt road. With all the commotion going on that morning, Sam had quite forgotten that he was about to meet his future master. He knew this lad was in his tweens, but he didn't really know quite what to expect. Bilbo had always been such a kind, gentle hobbit who could often spare a moment to tell exciting tales about dragons and drawfs. Would Bilbo's younger cousin be the same way?

Hamson decided to pass the sluggish minutes by humming a tune quietly to himself. It was an old walking song from the ancient years of the Shire that he had heard his Gaffer sing once in a while. The notes flowed effortlessly from Hamson's lips as if he had been born with them in his heart. He was a mere few beats away from the melody line when he felt an abrupt tug on the cuff of his immaculate shirt sleeve. Hamson turned his head to look down into Sam's eyes, bulging with curiosity.

"Hamson, what's he like, 's heir?"

If Hamson hadn't been so tense, he would have heard the slight trepidation in Sam's voice. Nevertheless, he considered the question for a moment.

"Well, I haven't met him you know, but I reckon he is just like any normal hobbit." Hamson paused. "Then again, Da told me he is from Buckland. Strange folk live there, you know, by the river. Some can even swim I hear. Mighty queer if you ask me." Sam's forehead creased, and his eyebrows scrunched together. "Buckland is right next to that old forest too, if my memory suits me." Sam thought back to the stories he had heard about that place. He distinctly remembered that it was rumored to be very dark and that the trees could supposedly move. A shiver shot up Sam's spine as the haunting details of the forest and the river flooded his memory. This Buckland lad is bound to be strange indeed! Sam shifted his weight from side to side as a rush of worries swirled around his head.

Suddenly, the boys heard the sound of a familiar, squeaky wheel and looked up just in time to see a worn, wooden wagon climb over the hill. In the front of the wagon, two adult hobbits sat smoking their pipes. One was older, with grey hair that reflected the setting sun, burning in the background. The other hobbit held the reins in his steady hands. His large build showed that he had led a life of hard work, and the slump in his shoulders suggested years of working close to the earth. The boys waiting impatiently in the lane in front of Bag End didn't need these clues to figure out that their Gaffer and had finally returned.

Sam scanned the cart, searching for the Buckland boy, but couldn't see him. Maybe he couldn't come after all, Sam thought with some relief. All his hopes quickly faded, however, when he spied a small form sitting on the back of the cart, dangling his feet off the edge. Hamson and Halfred waved to the approaching cart and were rewarded with a wave from Bilbo and an approving grunt from the Gaffer. Sam shuffled his furry feet restlessly as the party of hobbits drew closer. Bilbo then turned around and uttered something to the lad in the back. The lad swiveled forward and sat up on his knees to see above the older hobbits. Even though he was still several yards away, Sam could see that this lad had very large, lucid blue eyes that glimmered with a light of their own. A swarm of butterflies fluttered faster and faster in Sam's stomach as the wagon rolled closer, but the sight of those unusually intense eyes shattered his resilience. Without warning, he flew around on his heels and sprinted towards the smial.

"Sam! Samwise Gamgee you get back here this instance!" Hamson ordered, but Sam was already well on his way to Bag End's round, green front door and was not about to turn back. Halfred gave a shrug to his older brother, and the two prepared for the wagon to come to a halt.

...

"Woah, Sam! You were really so scared of Frodo you ran away?" Pippin asked between giggles.

"Now Pippin, I said no teasing!" Frodo chastised though he too was fighting back a fit of laughter. Sam, meanwhile, was scarlet red up to the tip of his ears yet also wore a bashful smile.

"That I was, ! Buckland was a mighty queer place to hobbit children who had never set foot out of The Shire before!"

"What I can scarcely believe is that you two wrote this all by yourselves!" said Merry questioningly.

"Well Bilbo helped with quite a bit of it I suppose." Frodo considered. "We would tell Bilbo everything we wanted to write about and he'd help us with adjectives and such. That's where most of the poetic bits came from anyway."

"I'd say so! I mean 'the notes flowed effortlessly from Hamson's lips as if he had been born with them in his heart' is only something Bilbo would have thought of!"

"Actually, that line was all Sam's creation! Though, I recall Bilbo pleading for the chance to use it someday!" Frodo's voice filled with pride and he cast an admiring smile at Sam.

"Sam wrote that?" Pippin asked in disbelief. He looked at Sam in wonder. "That might just be better than your description of Gandalf's fireworks when we were in Lothlorien!" Sam's blush deepened (if that was even possible).

"Go on, Frodo," Merry pressed. "Let's hear some more!"

"Ok, one more chapter, but then we need to get back to packing! The Cottons are bringing their wagon over at dusk and it's already high noon! Here Sam, you read this next one!" He held the leather novel out to him.

"Oh no, sir! I'm no good for reading aloud!" Sam refuted, pushing the book back towards Frodo. "Besides, you and Bilbo pretty much wrote the majority of this next chapter as I recall!"

"Oh alright," Frodo resigned. "Chapter Two: The Dinner."