Chapter 4

Special Delivery
In four parts

Three young hobbits have never finished a luncheon faster. If Tibor had not been in the kitchen when they arrived and witnessed the meal being taken, Bilbo might have believed that they had disposed of their food with magic.

They lent their eager hands to unload the waggon. Bilbo lifted out each bundle and handed it to Frodo. The young hobbits formed a little chain from waggon to back-door, aided by a few friendly Dwarves. They passed the marvelously mysterious packages inside, each securely wrapped in paper and bound with strips of silken cloth in every imaginable colour.

Frodo handled the bundles with great care. His curiosity was so great he might have burst; but greater still was his desire to see again the tall figure who had been driving the waggon. There was no sign of him now. When Frodo had asked his uncle where he was, Bilbo had answered with a smile and a wink.

"Oh, you'll probably see him later, my boy. I sent him off to speak with Gandalf while we unloaded." Bilbo leaned in and whispered confidentially in Frodo's ear, "I'm afraid his kind doesn't get on well with the Dwarves. A pity, but there you are..."

Frodo had to wait for an explanation on this; the packages had to be stored away. Merry and Pippin were fingering the wrappings, trying to guess what was within.

"Now, now!" Bilbo admonished them kindly. "Those are for the Party! You wouldn't want to spoil any surprises, would you?"

Pippin nodded excitedly, quite prepared to sacrifice future pleasure for immediate gratification. Merry laughed and locked his arm around his head playfully.

"Get off!" Pippin pushed him away, giggling. "Just one, Cousin Bilbo? Please?" Pippin gave him his most beguiling look, his large green eyes sparkling and eager.

Bilbo laughed as he allowed himself to be persuaded. "Well... since you've all been so helpful... perhaps just one. Hand me that large package with the silver paper. No, with the green ribbon... that's it." He lifted the package, as if trying to guess what was inside by the weight. He held it to his ear and murmured, "Ah!"

"What? What!" Pippin cocked his head and listened also. He could hear absolutely nothing. "What is it?"

"Hmm... let's see. Take that loose string there... and Merry, you take the other. Pull gently, now..."

The two young hobbits pulled carefully on the ribbon. The silk band came free with a soft whisper, and then the paper began to rustle and quiver. They moved to leap back but Bilbo was right behind them, and he put a hand on each of their shoulders so they could watch without fear.

The paper opened itself as if by invisible hands, and inside was a beautiful sculpture made of sugar, spun in the shape of a swan, white as new snow. It had a proud bend to the long slim neck, and each feather of the half-spread wings was so detailed you could count the vanes on the quills. The small black eyes glittered as if it were alive. The hobbits all drew their breath in awe.

Frerín tucked his thumbs behind his belt and regarded the artful confection. "Humph! There's a fine centerpiece! Not many would have the skill to shape something like this. Exquisite, I must confess..."

"I will be sure to pass on the compliment to Lord Elrond's staff," Bilbo said.

"Don't! The last thing we need is another Elf with a big head! I am sure the craftsman knows his work is good."

Frerín's face was a little flushed, but he smiled as Bilbo chided him gently, "Your secret is safe with us!"

The younger hobbits looked confused at the Dwarf's words, and Frodo had a blank look on his face; his eyes were sad. It wrenched Bilbo's heart slightly to see him like that. "I bet it tastes as sweet as it looks. Shall we give it a try?" he said merrily, trying to draw a smile from his nephew.

Frodo looked appalled. "How can we eat something so beautiful?"

"Easy!" Pippin said, licking his lips. "It will be more lovely still, in the mouth and in my memory. Can we really try it, Cousin Bilbo?"

It seemed a small sacrifice to make to the moment, to banish the bleak look on Frodo's face. "Of course! There are going to be many other treats for the Party... more than I can name! Let's enjoy this one now, to make the ones that come later even better!"

They each broke off a light, crisp feather. Frodo placed one on his tongue; it melted instantly. The flavour was not what he expected. It tasted like a summer afternoon in his earliest childhood, chasing butterflies in a field of wildflowers, while his mother and father watched from where they sat together on a picnic blanket. There had been pollen in the air that day, and honeysuckle cups to drink; a warm, happy time that was one of the best he could remember. Tears filled his eyes, and he blinked rapidly.

The faces of each of his friends reflected a similar delight; they were rapt in the blissful flavour. Frodo wondered if it tasted different for each of them, but he knew he couldn't ask. If he had to tell of it, he would cry again. He swallowed and offered Bilbo a smile.

"Thank you, Bilbo. That was indeed delicious. It makes me wonder what other treats we have in store."

Bilbo thought the sight of the smile Frodo gave him tasted even better than the magical candy of the Elves. "Who can tell, my lad, what awaits us tomorrow? Life is an Adventure on an endless Road.

"Now then, what about a spot of tea to chase all this sweetness? Some coffee or beer, Frerín, if you're agreeable?" The Dwarf nodded and everyone moved into the dining room.

Frodo remained behind, fingering the length of green silk ribbon that the package had been bound with. He coiled it carefully and put it in his pocket, smiling gently.

'Who can tell, indeed,' Frodo thought, and followed his friends to have some tea.

II
Escaping Bag End

Bilbo and the Dwarves kept busy through the rest of the day, trying to find room in the already over-flowing pantries to store the packages from Rivendell. Frodo helped for a while, but Bilbo suggested he go take an hour or two for himself.

"You've been working hard, my lad! Everything is on schedule and there is nothing to worry about. You do look rather tired, if you don't mind my saying so. Are your cousins keeping you awake at night with chatter?"

"Not at all, Bilbo!" Frodo hastened to assure him. He did not mention that it was his odd dreams that had been waking him at odd intervals through the nights. He did not want to make Bilbo worry. He smiled at his uncle and said, "A nap would be nice, maybe later. I'd like to jot out a few more invitations first."

While Frodo busied himself in his study composing these special letters, Merry and Pippin were engaged with answering the door; the bell had been ringing non-stop after the arrival of the waggon.

After an hour of turning away traffic, Merry came into Frodo's study and sank in a chair as if he were exhausted. "Do you and Bilbo always have so many visitors? It is a wonder you ever get to shut the door... someone is always coming in or going out!"

"Not always," Frodo smiled, "but there is so much interest about the Party, everyone wants to sneak a peek inside if they can, so they can gossip about it at the Green Dragon later." He poured his cousin a cup of cooling tea from the pot he'd been drinking.

"We should post a message on the wall to keep them updated," joked Merry, who then groaned as the doorbell rang again. "It's Pippin's turn this quarter hour. We have been trading off. May I...?" He gulped down his tea and ate the last two biscuits from the plate. "I'll get you some more, Frodo. Telling everyone who comes calling that you and Bilbo are indisposed is hungry work!"

"Don't worry about it, Merry. I was just about to step out. But if you would, you could fetch some for Pippin. If you're hungry, I am sure he is famished. He might let someone in if they offer him food!"

"You're going out?" Merry looked a little concerned. "I could go with you..."

"No need, Merry. You and Pippin will have your hands full, and I need to run this errand." Frodo slipped on his coat and straightened his cuffs. "I'll be back before dinner. Help Bilbo in anyway you can, please." He put the letters in his pocket.

"All right, Frodo."

"And Merry, have you seen anything of Gandalf today? Or that tall driver that arrived on the last waggon?"

"No, I haven't. Why did Bilbo say that about him… that his kind doesn't get on well with Dwarves? Is he an Elf?" Merry watched his cousin's face closely. Ever since that night he had seen Frodo talking to the Elves, when they had gone out camping and Frodo believed everyone was asleep, Merry had been fascinated and a little afraid of leaving Frodo alone.

Merry's obsession about Bilbo and his secret golden ring was slowly becoming replaced by a fear that one day Frodo would just be gone—gone away with the Elves he appeared to love so much.

Frodo rolled his shoulders in a shrug as he considered Merry's questions. "I assume that he is an Elf, Merry, but I don't know for sure. Bilbo told me that there is a lot of history between Elves and Dwarves, but most of it is so long ago that it doesn't make sense that they are still angry. Elves have long lives, and the ire of a Dwarf is as long as his family tree is tall, Bilbo says. It saddens me that they are not friendly."

"I remember what Bilbo said about the Elves and Dwarves at the Battle of Five Armies. They joined together to fight against the goblins; doesn't that make them friends now?" Merry shook his head. "I will never understand politics, even if I live as long as an Elf!"

Frodo laughed quietly, "Nor me, Merry. It is something I have been meaning to ask Gandalf about... among other things. If I can just pin the old fellow down for a few hours! I have scarcely seen him in the past few days!"

"I'll tell him you're looking for him, if I see him, Frodo," Merry promised.

"Thank you… but do be discreet, Merry!" Frodo asked.

"Discretion! I am the very soul of discretion!" Merry exclaimed earnestly.

Frodo gave his cousin a grin and punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Ask Bilbo about putting up a sign on the gate. I think that is a good idea."

"Do you think it would keep people away?" Merry asked.

"Not really," Frodo answered lightly, "but it is worth a try!"

⌂

Frodo grabbed an apple from the bowl and slipped out of the back door of Bag End with a nod to Gran; the Dwarf was industriously stirring the huge kettle over the hearth, muttering to himself.

The letters were tucked inside Frodo's jacket, and the pretty ribbon was coiled in his pocket. He made his way out of the garden and through the back gate, planning to take the shortest route to Bywater to visit Rosie Cotton's house.

He halted at the gate. The waggon was parked in the road; the horse was harnessed and waiting patiently. Frodo walked around and gently stroked the large beast's flank. Big as the horse was—it towered over Frodo—he felt no fear. The horse lowered his great head and allowed Frodo to scratch his ears gently.

"He likes this land and its inhabitants." The driver had appeared soundlessly beside Frodo. The hobbit looked up and saw eyes sparkling out of the hood. He no longer doubted that this was an Elf.

The Elf smiled at him and said, "You don't remember me, do you, young Frodo?"

"Forgive me," Frodo said, "I don't know your name, but I do remember you. I met you some years ago at the Piney Knoll on an evening of late summer."

The Elf laughed. "You remember well! My name is Tirhen. I recall the ballad you sang that night. Lindir heard it when I last visited Rivendell; he thought it was very good. He was surprised when I told him that it had been composed by a hobbit."

Frodo felt a little shock. "You sang my song in Rivendell?"

Tirhen nodded. "Not I alone, Frodo. Many Elves have had it on their lips. You underestimate your gifts."

Frodo felt very pleased and also giddy. He mumbled a soft 'thank you', hanging his head. The horse pushed him with his nose and nearly knocked him down. Laughing, Frodo gave him the apple from his pocket.

"Are you leaving now? I wish you could stay for the Party. You would be most welcome!"

Tirhen smiled and bowed. "Thank you. I regret that I cannot. Though a hobbit's idea of a party differs greatly from an Elf's, nevertheless this Party will be one long remembered! Yet one day I may see you again, young Master. Namarië!"

"Good-bye!" Frodo called. He took a deep breath and uttered a phrase he had learned from one of the books Bilbo had received from Elrond some years ago. "Nai tiruvantel ar varyuvantel i Valar tielyanna nu vilya."

The Elf turned toward him sharply, an expression of pleasure and respect on his fair face. He gave Frodo a deep bow, and then he climbed up onto his waggon.

Frodo watched as Tirhen drew up his hood again and took the reins loosely in his hands. He spoke a word to the horse and they moved off. Frodo sighed and turned to walk down the road, but when the waggon had gone he found Samwise standing across the way, looking as if he had been sun-struck.

"Sam? Are you all right?" Frodo asked, concerned.

"Aye, sir! I am fine, Mr. Frodo! I was just coming up the Hill to tend to the hedges an' I saw you standing there talking to... who was that, Mr. Frodo? He was taller even than ol' Mr. Gandalf!"

Frodo smiled and looked down the road where the waggon had disappeared. "A traveler from a far-away land."

Sam looked at Frodo in his coat. "Where are you off to, Mr. Frodo?" he asked. "Do you need someone to run for you? I could cut the hedges later..."

"Um..." Frodo started, wondering how on earth he could refuse Sam without hurting his feelings. His thoughts were moving quickly. "That's all right, Sam. You go ahead with your chores. I... I need to... to..." Frodo saw a swirl of grey fabric suddenly in the corner of his eye. "Gandalf!"

"Master Gamgee, you look well today!" Gandalf had come softly up to the two hobbits, causing Sam to gasp and Frodo to sigh with relief. "Frodo, I would like a few moments of your time, if you are willing?"

"Certainly, Gandalf." Frodo tried not to appear too relieved. "I'll be fine, Sam. I'll see you in a little while."

Sam tugged his forelock and slipped away into the safety of the garden, happy to leave Frodo in Gandalf's good hands. He watched as they walked away down the Hill, then let out his breath all at once.

"All this a-spyin' and conspiratin' has got me jumpy as a spotted toad!" Sam said to himself softly. "Why I ever let Master Merry talk me into this?" He took up his shears and began to trim the leaves on the hedges, whistling under his breath.

His eyes were fixed down the road where his master and Gandalf had walked away, so he did not notice that the ragged hedge he was clipping at had ducked his shears and was waddling away!

III
On Dreams

Frodo walked along the road beside Gandalf, a charmed smile lingering on his face. An Elf on the Hill... and in broad daylight! What was the Shire coming to...?

Gandalf paced along beside him, keeping his stride short so that he didn't leave Frodo behind. He seemed to share in Frodo's good mood; he was humming under his breath and nodding to the neighbours who were staring at him as he and Frodo walked past their gates.

"Did you have a question you wanted to ask, Frodo?" he said at last, as their feet brought them to the gentle lands beyond the village.

"Do you know why Tirhen could not stay for the party?" Frodo asked. He stooped and picked up a stone that lay in the dust on the road. He fingered it absently, thinking about all the questions he wanted to ask.

Gandalf gave him a questioning look, as if he knew that wasn't really what Frodo had on his mind. "I was speaking to him before you came out of Bag End. Bilbo has extended an invitation to him; he told me that he was glad of that kindness. Elves don't normally show much interest in the doings of halflings... I think you and your uncle have made an impression on him!" Gandalf smiled down at Frodo. "Yet he did not think it best to stay, considering the number of Dwarves about the place. He thought that might cause a bit too much gossiping about something that your uncle wishes to keep secret." And Gandalf winked at the young hobbit. "Now ask me what is really plaguing your mind, Frodo."

"I wanted to ask you about dreams again, Gandalf. You said before that you had a longer answer for me. Can you tell me now what they mean?"

"Ah," said Gandalf, stroking his long grey beard, "I have been considering what we discussed, as I am sure you have as well. What dreams have you been having, Frodo, that have made you so curious?"

"Well..." Frodo began, but he did not know what to say. Now that it came down to speaking them aloud, their strangeness and mystery seemed lessened, and he felt mildly foolish. "Maybe they don't mean anything," he muttered, casting the stone aside. "I think I over-reacted about the whole thing."

Gandalf chuckled softly, his face kind and sympathetic. "Don't be ashamed, Frodo. Anyone who reads and wonders about the world wishes that they could find their answers easily. Our dreams speak to us of our hopes and fears, in a voice that ignores comfort or propriety. We see ourselves or people we know doing extraordinary or bizarre things. Dreaming about a thing doesn't make it true."

The old Wizard leaned on his walking stick as they strolled; Frodo scuffed the dry soil on the road with his feet. It seemed that Frodo was thinking hard, and when he finally spoke his mind, all his words came out in a rush, as if he were afraid he would forget something vitally important.

"Usually, my dreams are normal, Gandalf, full of normal things. Walking in the garden, or looking out of the door at Bag End. Eating. I dream about Buckland, sometimes... I see a river frequently. But there are strange things, too. I see things in my dreams I have only read about. I sometimes dream that I am lost, sir, or that I am wandering in an unfamiliar place, looking for someone or something. And I see the Sea... or what I imagine the Sea to look like... I am not sure, but it calls up in me a great fear and a vague sense of longing. Is that not odd?"

Gandalf shook his head, making the tip of his beaten, faded blue hat to wobble around. "That sounds quite ordinary, dear Frodo. Certainly nothing to worry about. I would think that a hobbit your age, and especially one as educated and blessed with curiosity as you are, is bound to have dreams that seem outrageous, at least to other hobbits whose ideas are more... parochial. Tell me, have any of these 'odd dreams' of yours ever come true?"

"No. Well," Frodo giggled, and his face turned a bit red. "I once dreamed that my Aunt Lobelia turned into a troll... but that didn't seem very out of the ordinary!"

Gandalf laughed with Frodo. "Let's do hope that particular dream doesn't come true!"

They walked on in companionable silence for a while before Gandalf ventured to speak again. "Once I was reading a scroll that one of the Wizards in my order had loaned me. It spoke of the visions of the Seers and the extraordinary things they had predicted. But their prophecies came not from dreams, but from long consideration of facts, and usually they were moved greatly by some passionate emotion, like unto fear or anger, before they made their pronouncement. Many have been recorded that have never come to pass, and some that have occurred are still disputed by the Wise as being genuine predictions. You said before that you had waking dreams, Frodo. Do you recall them?"

Frodo stopped walking under the shade of a large oak tree. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared into the distant blue of the sky. "Once, long ago when I was just a fry, I remember playing down by the river in Buckland. I fell in—just a clumsy accident—and if it hadn't been for an adult who was nearby, I might have drowned. After that, whenever I crossed water of any kind, I was afraid that I would drown... I was even afraid of taking a bath.

"My mother told my father about it, and he took me aside and told me that I shouldn't be afraid. He went with me down to the Pool and taught me to swim. He told me that now I had no need to fear water anymore, but that I should remember always to respect it. It wasn't too long after that when he and mother drowned in the Brandywine." Frodo felt Gandalf's gentle hand on his shoulder. He covered it with his own small hand, grateful for the Wizard's sympathy. "I had reason to fear water after all, but not for myself. Is that a kind of prophecy?"

"My dear Frodo, you don't blame yourself for their deaths, do you? Your father respected the River; he and your mother both loved it. From what I have heard, he was an excellent boatman. You couldn't have prevented what happened."

"I could have told them... warned them..." Frodo gulped, feeling tears threaten. He blinked and ducked his head, not wanting Gandalf to see.

Gandalf could see, however, and he knelt before Frodo and looked him solidly in the eyes. "Who taught you to respect water, Frodo?"

"My dad..." Frodo answered in a small voice.

"Yes, and do you think he had less respect for it than you? Do you think he would endanger his wife by ignoring the lessons he took such care to teach you?" Frodo shook his head. "Then he must have been careful, and what happened to them must have been meant to be." The Wizard took hold of Frodo's arms and gave him a little shake. "They would be proud of you, Frodo, if they could see you today. You are grown into a fine hobbit, and you are good-hearted and genteel. Your uncle Bilbo made a prediction long ago that seems to have come true. He foresaw that you would become a hobbit of great character. I think he was right."

Frodo smiled and blushed a little. "How could I turn out otherwise, with two such wise and caring guardians? Gandalf, thank you for listening to me."

"My pleasure. Now, I would listen to you telling me where we are going? Or are we just idly walking to the edge of the Shire and back before supper?"

Frodo laughed and pointed to the hill that was rising before them. "I need to pay a visit to the Cotton farm, over yonder. Bilbo wants some more jelly from Madam Cotton, and I need to deliver a special invitation."

"Well, I will let you go on, then, and rest my weary bones under this excellent shady tree. I expect that they would not be overly delighted to see me wandering up to their doorstep!" Gandalf settled with a sigh onto the grass, laying his staff across his lap. "I'll wait here for you, if it is all the same, dear lad."

"All right, Gandalf!" Frodo agreed. "I'll be back very quickly!" He turned and hurried up the hill, scaring up summer moths that were hiding from the sun in the bunches of buffalo roses that crowned the hill like a purple blanket.

IV
Cotton and Wool

Frodo jogged down the path, crossed the field, and began climbing the hill above the Cotton's farm. A herd of sheep was grazing below, but there was no sign of a shepherd. Frodo walked down the hill, forced to caution by the steepness of the slope. The sheep moved away as he drew near, making a perfect circle of space around the hobbit as he walked; ewes sheltering their growing lambs, rams watching him with rolling eyes. He made no sudden moves to startle them, and they parted to allow him to pass.

He neared the farm and got back on the road, approaching the door openly and correctly. He saw Jolly and Tom working in the yard to the side of the house, splitting wood with axes. Their younger brothers Nick and Nibs were gathering the halved pieces and stacking them. They waved at Frodo as he came toward the gate in front of their house. Tom carefully laid his ax down and came to meet him.

"Hoy, Mr. Frodo! Fine day for a walk, I say. What brings you this far from the Hill?" Tolman Cotton was about the same age as Samwise and Meriadoc, but he was beefer than either of them. He had always been friendly to Frodo and Bilbo, though he was a serious young hobbit, taking more after his father than just his name.

"A very fine day, Tom! I was wondering if Madam Cotton was home and if she was, would I be able to speak to her?" Frodo said politely. He made no move to come inside the yard until he was invited to do so. Tom opened the gate and waved him in.

"Mother is inside the house. Come in!" Tom looked over at his brothers, who had used Frodo's appearance as an excuse to stop working. "You lot get on with it! Dad said to have those logs split by supper, or there'd be none to be had!"

"I am sorry if I have come at a bad time," said Frodo.

"None of it! Those lazy logs are trying to dodge work, is all! I'll straighten them out." He opened the door to the house and called out, "Mother? We've company!"

If Tom's brothers were lazy, it didn't show on the grounds or inside the house. Though the Cotton farmhouse was not anywhere near as large or luxurious as Bag End, everything Frodo could see was neat and clean, and the flowers and garden were healthy and full of bloom, even this late in the summer. The house was adequately appointed, with home-made furniture and rugs, all colourful and well-constructed. There was a fruity smell in the air as Frodo stepped into the parlour.

Tom closed the door behind them and called again, "Mother?"

"In the kitchen, dear!" a voice floated toward them from down the hall. Tom led Frodo down the corridor.

The passage opened upon a kitchen that seemed small, but only because it was full of activity. There was a large kettle on the blazing hearth, bubbling with stewing fruit by the smell. Mrs. Lily Cotton was wearing an apron that had a few flecks of berry juice on it, and her cheeks were rosy-red from the heat.

"Mr. Baggins!" she said with delight when she saw who was with her son. "Tom, get him a cool drink, dear, would you? My hands are that full, right now, Mr. Baggins... if you'll just give me a moment…"

"Of course, ma'am. I am sorry if I am interrupting--"

"Not at all! Just take that, and you come and stir this, Tom... don't let it burn!" She wiped her hands on a clean towel and came up to Frodo, smiling. "You look very well today, Mr. Frodo."

"Thank you, ma'am," Frodo replied.

"Come and sit down... keep stirring, Tom!" she called over her shoulder, not even glancing at her eldest son, who had just that moment ceased to turn the preserves. He picked up the spoon hastily and resumed, grinning at Frodo. "What can I do for you today?" she asked Frodo.

"My uncle sent me 'round, ma'am, to engage you for some of your delightful mint jelly. Bracegirdle seems to have sold all his stock, so I came to see if you might have a jar or two to part with?" Frodo asked hopefully.

"Ah... maybe," she said, rising to scan the shelves of her pantry. There were many, many bottles there, each filled with colourful things and clearly labeled. He pushed some of them around, looking behind them. She stooped and checked the lower shelf.

"Tom, can you go to the cellar and check for some mint for me?" Tom happily stopped stirring the thick substance that was cooking over the hearth. He headed toward the back of the kitchen, pausing long enough to stick his head out of the window and yell at his brothers to get back to work. Frodo heard the sound of renewed chopping. Tom disappeared through a door.

"I don't think he will find anything down there for you, Mr. Frodo," Lily said, digging her ladle deep in the cauldron and blotting her brow with her wrist. The kitchen was very hot. "I am sure I am out of mint. I have been meaning to make up some more, but I haven't the herbs I need. I am afraid Rosie's lambs slipped into the garden and tore out our beds of spearmint plants."

Frodo sipped the glass of water that Tom had handed him earlier, then said, "If it is herbs you need, ma'am, I am fairly sure that there is an abundance of spearmint growing on the Hill… much more than we could hope to preserve, and of course, our jellies never turn out as excellent as yours!"

Lily Cotton gave him a pleased smile; Frodo couldn't tell if she blushed because the warmth from the hearth made her face red all the time. "That would be most helpful, Mr. Frodo! After I set down this batch of berry, I could get started on that, as soon as I have the plants. Stewing them fresh from the cutting is best, before their flavour begins to fade."

"I'll send someone round with the mint straight away," promised Frodo, smiling a little at the excuse to send Samwise to the Cotton's door. Rosie would probably be furious...

Frodo couldn't think of a way to casually ask where Lily's daughter might be. He knew that it would be most improper to ask, so he fingered the ribbon in his pocket and bid her good day, turning to leave.

"Wait!" Tom came puffing up out of the cellar, toting a jar full of green. "We did have one!" He thrust the jelly into Frodo's hands, grinning.

"Very good, Tom, now go and get your chores done. I haven't heard an axe fall for a while," Lily smiled at her son. "You take that jar, Mr. Frodo, and send round the herbs tomorrow, if you like. I'll split the batch, if you think that's fair?"

"Perfectly fair, Mistress!" Frodo offered her a full bow, which made her laugh with delight.

"You are most formal in a farm kitchen, Mr. Baggins!"

Frodo heard the stiff papers in his pocket crinkle as he bowed, and he exclaimed, "Oh! I nearly forgot... would you accept this invitation to Bilbo's Birthday Party, next Thursday?" Frodo extended the envelope with small ceremony. "Please bring the entire family! There will be food and games and fun for all, all day long!

Lily took it and looked at the fine gold-lettered writing on the thick, fine paper. "Thank you, Mr. Baggins! I shall give it to my husband when he gets home tonight. How kind of you to deliver it yourself!"

"Good day, ma'am," Frodo left her stirring her kettle, waving at Tom and the lads as he left the farmyard and headed back up the road. He crossed the ditch where he had come before, wading out into the field back toward where he had left Gandalf dozing.

The sheep scattered before him again, except for one lamb. It came up to Frodo fearlessly, nibbling on his sleeve and bleating.

Frodo knelt and caressed its head, laughing as it nipped at his fingers. There was a collar of braided grasses round the little one's neck, woven with little flowers. Frodo knew that this must be Rosie's pet; she always enjoyed weaving flowers.

Struck by a sudden idea, he reached into his pocket and drew out the ribbon. It shimmered in the sunlight. Carefully, he tied it to the lamb's collar, though he had to keep tugging the end out of its mouth. He secured it firmly in a large bow.

"Now, go to your mistress, little white," Frodo said, patting the lamb on the hindquarters. It dashed away, its little stub of a tail twitching. He watched it run until it disappeared between the folds in the green hills.