Bell took off at a quick trot. Down the hill, past the turning to her own hole-Hamfast would deliver her message, and her father would only try to talk her out of chasing after Bilbo-and beside the softly rippling waters where the two steams merged just before Bywater.
The market in Bywater was in full swing. Hobbits haggled over the proper price for a jar of clover honey, boasted of the size of their cabbage heads, and young ones dashed in and out between the stalls, giggling and shrieking.
Slowing to a walk, both to catch her breath and to avoid colliding with any children not watching where they were going, Bell made her way through the market. She caught a glimpse of old Widow Bolger at the far end of the market square and hurried towards her. Although she was ancient, as hobbit-folk go, Widow Bolger still had keen eyes, and little escaped her scrutiny.
"Bell Goodchild," the widow said, setting down her knitting, "Can I interest you in a nice woolen shawl? Or perhaps one of these doilies? Just finished them up last evening."
"Thank you, no," Bell panted, her breathing still heavy from having run all the way from Hobbiton. "I wonder, though, have you seen any Dwarves through Bywater today? Or Mister Baggins of Bag End?"
The widow's white eyebrows rose and she squinched her lips into a disapproving scowl. "Dwarves," she muttered, lowering her voice. "I saw Dwarves, all right. Very early this morning. A whole troop of them, traveling in company with that wandering conjuror Gandalf, of the famous fireworks. Don't like to think what such disreputable folks are doing in these parts." She narrowed her eyes. "What might you be wanting with Dwarves?"
"Me? I don't want anything with Dwarves."
It was the expected answer, but Bell couldn't help realizing it wasn't true. She wanted very much to have more to do with Dwarves, but Widow Bolger wouldn't understand that, and besides, what Widow Bolger knew, everyone in Bywater would know within an hour.
"I'm looking for Mister Baggins," Bell continued. "Did you happen to see him?"
The widow picked her knitting back up and began to clickety-clack the needles. "Saw what might have been the tail end of him. Running like all of Honeyman Boffin's bees were after him. He went off that way," she gestured with her head, "toward Budgeford."
Bell bobbed a curtsey. "Thank you kindly, Widow Bolger. You've been very helpful."
The widow's voice trailed after Bell on the breeze as she hurried away down the eastward road. "You won't catch him, dearie! He's got quite a start on you!"
The road stretched ahead along the south bank of The Water, as this stretch of river was known. A crisp breeze blew, full of the scent of mallows and hollyhock. On any other day, Bell would pause to enjoy it, to watch the swallows flitting over the meadow and fish jumping in the shallows, but on this day she forced her legs into an unaccustomed run.
Before long her limbs were aching, her lungs burned, and a thin sheen of sweat coated her from tip to toe. If her father could have seen her, he'd have sputtered and huffed and lectured her on the proper behavior of hobbit ladies until he went blue in the face.
Bell's stomach grumbled and she realized she hadn't eaten anything since supper the night before, nor did she have any food with her, or coin to buy any upon reaching Budgeford. This wouldn't do. She couldn't run forever on nothing.
For lack of any other options, Bell knelt at The Water's edge and scooped up handfuls which she slurped down eagerly, trying not to let any slip down her forearms and into her sleeves.
A little refreshed, she hurried on and at last the bridge at Budgeford came into view. Budgeford lay in a relatively flat area of the Shire, so there were a few cottages together near the center of town, for there weren't quite enough holes to house all the folks who lived in the area. It was also the farthest Bell had ever traveled from home. She'd never gotten as far as Buckland, and she could only just make out a dark line at the horizon that was the near edge of the Old Forest.
Would she have to go that far before she found Bilbo?
Even though she was hot from her exertions, Bell shivered at the thought. This adventuring was proving to be uncomfortable indeed. What if she had to enter the Old Forest alone?
"Don't take on trouble that isn't here yet," she said, straightening her shoulders and shaking her head to free her curls from her perspiration-soaked brow. "Budgeford first."
The market at Budgeford had a different feel than those in Hobbiton and Bywater. More gentlemen hobbits with woodwork for sale, leather goods, and even a dark-haired fellow with a Buckland look about him selling metalwork, including a few knives.
Bell kept watch for anyone she might know, even a little bit. With each passing step, she grew more despondent. Not a soul. So many strangers. She felt keenly alone, despite being surrounded by hobbits.
Her empty belly twisted and she bit down on her lip to keep it from trembling. She was not going to cry. Adventurers didn't do such undignified things, no matter how tempting it might seem. And she hadn't even left the Shire!
Then her gaze fell on a particularly tall hobbit gentleman with dark auburn hair gone white at the edges. A long scar ran down the left side of his face, which gave him a fierce look, despite his broad grin. She knew this man. Saradoc Brandybuck, Master of Buckland. He'd been to visit Mister Baggins on several occasions, and Bell had been asked to help serve the tea to such an important personage.
He didn't look so very important today. He wore simple homespun and a leather vest, and stood beside a cart that was empty, save for scattered pieces of bark littering the floorboards.
Bell approached him cautiously, unsure if he would even remember her.
"Excuse me, Master Brandybuck, I wonder if I might have a word?"
Saradoc looked down at her with bright blue eyes that widened as recognition dawned. "Why, you're Mister Baggins' housekeeper! Beth was it?"
"Bell, sir."
"Right, yes, of course. What can I do for you?"
So Bell laid out her errand with as little mention of Dwarves and as much emphasis on catching up to Bilbo, to give him his "important item that he left behind," as she could manage. Standing there in Budgeford, she couldn't bring herself to mention that the item was a handkerchief. What had made perfect sense in Hobbiton felt quite silly and frivolous now. Best to keep that little detail to herself.
"Hmm," said Saradoc. "Mister Baggins did come through earlier today, in company with many Dwarves. You're on the right path to catch him, but they were all riding ponies, girl. You won't catch them afoot."
Bell's shoulders slumped. Had she come so far only to fail? Was all of this nothing more than a silly girl's impossible dream?
"Don't look so downhearted!" Saradoc said. "It so happens I'm on my way from here on toward Bree. I can give you a ride, if you'd like."
"Oh, would you? Could you?" Bell paused and looked down at her empty hands. "I haven't got anything to pay you with."
Saradoc grinned. "I'd enjoy the company. It's a long road to travel with no one to talk to but my own self. Here," he offered her a hand, "let me help you up."
In the course of a few minutes, Bell found herself sitting in the back of Saradoc Brandybuck's cart, rolling off down the road. "Are you hungry, Bell?" he asked, when her stomach complained loudly. "There's a picnic basket under the bench. Help yourself to an apple and a sweet roll."
Bell smiled. Perhaps there was hope for this adventurer after all.