Chapter 10: Badgered
in four parts
Hamfast Gamgee looked up from his work as the front door of Bag End opened and Otho Sackville-Baggins stormed out, stamping down the lane as if to take out his frustration on the packed soil under his feet. The Gaffer tutted softly to himself and resumed his work. That rowdy crowd of hobbits that had come by earlier had made a right mess of the lawn, and so now he was gently patting the torn grass clumps back into place with his hoe.
As he worked his way around the yard, he came to the line of shrubs by the fence. Here he paused, laying his hoe aside. "Samwise! Come 'ere, lad," he called, slowly bending down on one knee to examine a withered rosebush.
Sam came trotting at the sound of his name. He had been in the back garden, helping Frerín and Gran pack the last of their things into a waggon. "Yes, Gaffer, sir… here I am."
"Look't this poor rosebush!" Ham raised one limp branch on the abused plant. It looked half-dead; its leaves were mostly gone and some of its twigs appeared to be covered with scorch-marks. "He's gone sickly! Fetch me a forked birch-rod and some string, lad, and some o' that rich fertilizer left over from the garden."
Sam looked close at the plant, letting out a low whistle. "Yes, sir!" he hurried to obey his father.
Ham gently examined the wretched bush, but found no parasites, no signs of nibbling by rabbit or vole, and no other reason for the state of decay. He scratched his head with his soiled fingers and muttered, "Somebody done dumped their pipe-char on the poor thing, or maybe a sparkler fell from the fireworks last night... looks like he's been burned... a bit of extra water wouldn't hurt..." he prodded the soil beneath the roots, wondering if he should build a bit of a trestle around it.
Sam came back promptly with the birch-rod and a ball of twine, and then hurried to the garden for the soil. When he arrived with a full bucket, Ham had managed to straighten the leaning bush by lashing it to the rod. Together they pack the dirt loosely around the roots of the bush.
"We should put a cover over, come nightfall, sir," said Sam, taking his Gaffer's elbow to help him stand; the old hobbit's joints were getting rusty. "There's still a bit of that stout cloth left over from wrapping the fruit-tree saplings that Mr. Baggins ordered."
"Aye, I was jus' thinkin' so," Ham nodded, "but wait 'til after dusk, lad. He'll need all the sunlight he can get, and extra water now and in the mornin'. Have you finished loadin' that waggon? Well, don't forget you've your own chores to finish!"
"Yes, sir!"
He watched his son as Sam walked away, heading back to his interrupted tasks. It'll be sooner than later, he mused as he took up his hoe again; the day that he would have to hand over the handling of the Bag End garden to Samwise. Ham had gardened for Bilbo for ever since Holman Greenhand had retired, some sixty-odd years ago. Keeping the grounds at Bag End was a joy as well as a job to the aging hobbit, but it was harder nowadays to keep up with the work. If he didn't have Sam to help, he'd be fit to be tied.
Hamfast was very proud of his youngest son. Sam had learned everything that he had to teach about gardening. The lad still has some to learn about keeping his place, Ham reflected as he flipped over another divot of grass. Sam spent a lot of time on things that his gaffer believed were beyond his station—time that could be better spent elsewhere. Ham couldn't fault him for wanting to help Mr. Frodo; it was clear how devoted he was to the new Master of the Hill. But then, he had been since they had first met, when Mr. Frodo was still a wild-fry from Buckland. Maybe, now that Mr. Frodo would be assuming more responsibilities and settling down a bit, Sam would shake off this ridiculous streak of curiosity.
Ham scrapped the blade of the hoe along the edge of the flagged stones, then leaned against the pole for a moment and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. He could hear Sam as he took up an ax to cut some wood to refill the depleted bins next to Bag End's kitchen entrance. Ham grinned as he heard his son begin to sing the Chopping Song, a tune that Bilbo had taught him to make the onerous chore more fun.
Set the log upon the stump
Bump the handle like a pump
On the shoulder, in the air
Bring it down and make it--
thump!
The sound of an axe biting wood, the clatter of the split log falling in two. The pieces were chucked into a barrow and Sam set up another chunk, still singing his song under his breath.
Ham listened as he leaned on his hoe, looking out over the lawn and down the hill. I shouldn't be so hard on the lad, Ham told himself. Sam was still a young hobbit, for all he was willing to work, and his coming-of-age was eight years off yet, after all. Ham sighed as he walked back around the yard, checking for more damage, until he was poking along the window boxes. May be time to let those marigolds go, he mused, lifting the shriveling golden and red heads with a finger.
"In due time, even Sam will find his season," murmured Ham, reaching up to try to fluff the drooping ivy-rope that tangled over the window of what used to be Frodo's room. The creeper was dry and had lost a lot of leaves. This autumn really seemed to be taking a toll on the life on the Hill.
Down the Hill, Ham heard Daisy calling tea-time; tearing out the ivy and replanting the window boxes would have to be a job for another day. Ham carried his hoe back behind the smial. "Sam! You heard your sister! We'll tend that illin' rosebush when we get back."
"Go on ahead without me, Gaffer sir," Sam said, balancing another log on the weathered, ax-bitten stump. "I want to finish this up for Mr. Frodo. He may need a hand today, what with all the comings and goings. And I'll not forget to bring a pail of water down and soak those rose-roots. Tell Daisy to save me a biscuit or two for after supper."
Ham grunted and turned away, only half to hide his proud smile. He remembered swinging the ax all through the afternoon when he was Holman's garden-hand, enjoying the feeling of honest sweat down his back and the satisfying sound of the blade biting wood. He walked home, using his hoe like a walking-staff, and when he arrived he told Daisy to be sure to set aside Sam's teacakes.
"He's not coming?" Daisy scowled, her hands propped up on her hips. "I could take him a cup..."
"Leave it, lass," Ham said, settling into his chair. "He'll come home hungry as a lumberer at supper-time, and we'll see him soon enough then. Now, what's that heavenly smell? Do you have something for your poor old father to gnaw on while he takes his tea?"
Daisy giggled, but she sternly pointed toward the bathing room. "Not until you wash your hands, Daddy. And how did you get dirt in your hair?"
⌂
Stint waited until the old halfling was well out of sight, then he writhed himself around so that he could see his friend Firtle. The stocky wood sprite was leaning on a birch-rod like a crutch, wriggling his toes in the rich black loam that the halflings had tucked around his feet.
"Aaa-haaaa!" Firtle sighed with relief.
II
Mistress Lobelia
It was some time before Frodo came out of his study. Merry thought he looked more tired, maybe even older than he had been before he had gone inside. But as he saw his cousin waiting in the hall with a face full of hesitant questions, Frodo smiled; a bright smile from the heart, a beam as if from the Sun through a curtain of cloud. All the weariness and age dropped away from his face, then… and Merry was sure he must have only imagined seeing it.
There were only a couple of hobbits still lingering in the hall, trying to dicker a trade on whatever goods Bilbo had left them. Frodo politely asked them to leave.
"Please excuse me, if you'd be so kind! I have rather a lot of things to do today, and you're both welcome to come back again sometime, for tea perhaps? I'll let you know when. Good day!" He closed the door after them and turned to speak to Merry, but a strange noise distracted him. It sounded like a woodpecker hammering on a hollow log, but coming from inside the smial, rather than from without.
It was coming from the parlour. Frodo stepped in and stopped abruptly. Lobelia was inside, tapping firmly on the wooden inlaid floor with her umbrella, wherever it showed between the rich rugs spread beneath the furniture.
Merry poked his head in after Frodo, exclaiming in surprise. "You! still here? Frodo, I swear, I saw her leave with her husband right after they came out from speaking with you! She must have got back in through the kitchen door!"
Lobelia turned guiltily at the sound of Merry's voice, but she thrust her chin forward defiantly. "Are guests not welcome to look around in the parlour? It was always so when Bilbo Baggins was master here!"
"Cousin Lobelia," Frodo said, taking the old woman's arm gently. "Guests are always welcome to make themselves at home. However, it is now time for you to go, as the day is quite getting on and... Hullo! What's this?" Frodo caught a glint of something bright inside the folds of the half-opened umbrella that Lobelia had hooked over her arm. Before she could close it back up, Frodo reached in and withdrew a highly polished brass box which contained the official Baggins Family seal. Lobelia tried to snatch it out of his hand, but he drew it back quickly, still holding her elbow loosely in one hand.
"Mrs. Sackville-Baggins! I am astounded!" Frodo displayed the box to Merry. "And how did this happen to come to be inside your umbrella? I could swear it was on my desk this morning!"
"Seems that Bilbo isn't the only burglar in the family, Cousin Frodo!" Merry said, delighting in the stain of shame that was creeping over Lobelia's sallow face.
Lobelia sputtered and spat, "You don't mean to imply that I deliberately took that from your desk!"
"Oh, no, I am sure it just fell in, Lobelia." Frodo's voice was smooth and reasonable, but by the look on his face, no one doubted that he believed none of what he was saying. "Shall we check and see if any other of my possessions have accidentally wound up inside your umbrella?" He held out his hand to her expectantly.
Lobelia clutched her umbrella to herself but after a long moment, during which nobody moved or spoke, she slowly reached into her umbrella and withdrew a small gilt-edged frame and placed it in Frodo's hand.
Frodo passed it to Merry without glancing at it, retaining his grip on Lobelia's arm. He held out his empty hand to her again and waited, watching her face.
"What? There's nothing... oh, very well!" She reached in again and brought out two more items; a large brass key and a jeweled button-hook. She thrust them into Frodo's hand, then lifted her umbrella to show him that there was nothing else within the folds. "That's it! See? Now, let go of me!"
"Oh, I shall let you go, my dear cousin," Frodo assured her, steering her firmly toward the exit, "once I see you safely to the front door. All these treacherous rugs and chairs to navigate, and that long dark hallway-- I must be sure that you can find your way out." He escorted her to the front step, with Merry gleefully holding the door open for them. Frodo then released her arm. "Good day, Lobelia."
She pulled away from him with such force that she nearly spilled herself down the steps. Frodo caught her again, just long enough to steady her. She took a step away then turned back to him, her face dark red with impotent anger, her jaw working as if the taste of her unspoken words disagreed with her. Finally, she managed to stammer out, "You'll live to regret it, young fellow! Why didn't you go too? You don't belong here; you're no Baggins— you— you're a Brandybuck!" She spat out the name as if it were something disgusting in her mouth.
Frodo swung the door shut on her, though it cost him the last ounce of his patience to not slam it. "Did you hear that, Merry?" he said, his voice shaking a little. "That was an insult, if you like!"
Unperturbed, Merry lounged against the doorway that led into the parlour. "It was a compliment," he said with a smile, giving Frodo a bracing clap on his shoulder, "and so, of course, not true!"
III
Three Little Badgers
Frodo allowed himself to be steered into the parlour and pushed into a chair. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes briefly, but he found it impossible to relax. Despite Merry's encouragement, Lobelia's words stung his ears. He opened his eyes and gazed at the other hobbit as he moved about the room.
Merry took a couple of logs off of the rick next to the hearth and set them on the coals and ashes of the dying fire, prodding them with a poker until the flames began to lick at the seasoned wood. He picked up the kettle and cupped his hand to the side to see if it was still warm. It was so easy for Frodo to forget that Merry was not yet even a tween; Merry had never really behaved like the other hobbits his age, even as a faunt back in Brandyhall when Frodo lived there before Bilbo had adopted him. Always he bore himself with an air of responsibility, even when he was up to mischief. That must be why, Frodo mused, the young Bucklander managed to get away with so many outrageous things.
"Come on, Frodo," Merry said, swinging the cold kettle back toward the growing heat of the fire, "you haven't managed a taste of a single drop of tea I've poured for you today! Samwise will say I am not taking proper care of you. When this water boils I want you to sit and do nothing but drink until your mug is completely empty!"
Frodo chuckled, shedding a little of his grim humour. "I won't say no to a cup, but I'd feel more comfortable while drinking it if we make sure everyone's gone. I thought I heard someone banging around in the kitchen earlier." He gripped the arms of the chair as if he did not want to get up at all, but then he sighed and thrust himself to his feet.
"We've got a while before the kettle whistles," Merry said as he followed Frodo, padding down the hallway. "Maybe Lobelia is trying to dig her way back inside!" he laughed. "I've always suspected that she had some badger in her blood."
"Merry! That was unkind..." Frodo said sternly, though a smile was playing at the edges of his mouth. He placed a finger over his lips and shushed his cousin, pointing toward the doorway of the small pantry that burrowed back into the hill. There was an irregular thumping noise coming from that direction, accompanied by the pattering fall of dirt or gravel.
They heard a muffled exclamation and an urgent "Be quiet!" Frodo paused outside of the door and pressed himself against the wall, motioning Merry to stop and listen. The voice continued, "You'll bring the roof down on our heads or the master on our necks, Biffo, if you're not more careful!"
"Let's get out of here," another voice begged, "We ought not be in here... what if that Dwarf comes back and finds us?" Frodo's eyes widened as he recognized that voice. Fredegar Bolger!
The first voice spoke again, in a wheeling tone, "Come on, Fatty! The Dwarves are all gone, I saw them leave with my own eyes. Help me shift some of this dirt, now. The treasure has to be buried somewhere near here!"
"I don't want no treasure no more," mumbled Fatty. "Mr. Bilbo was always been good to me and my family... and it will be shame on you, Ludo—and on you, too, Biffo—if he were to come back and see the damage we've done! Even if there is treasure here, it's not ours..."
"Bilbo is gone! He disappeared in a puff of smoke… I heard my gran say so! So his treasure is for whoever can find it now," Biffo hissed. More dirt rained down as he spoke further, "and we'll not get caught if you keep your voice down! Now dig!"
"No, I'm out of this!" Fatty said, and Frodo heard a thunk, a sound as if the lad had dropped whatever tool he had been using to dig with. "I don't know why I let you two talk me into this..." Soft footsteps grew louder as the young hobbit hurried out of the pantry. As he came out of the doorway, he froze as he saw Frodo and Merry standing there. His eyes went wide, and all the colour drained out of his face; he opened his mouth as if to yell or beg for mercy but no sound came out, not even a squeak.
Frodo covered the lad's open mouth with a gentle hand and gave him a slow wink. He opened the back door slowly, so that it did not creak at all, then reached up and took a copper pot and a ladle from their hooks on the wall, indicating to Merry and Fatty that they should stand well back. Merry placed a friendly but restraining arm around Fatty's shoulders, grinning at him. Fatty stared at him with his eyes still big as saucers, but he did not try to run away.
Wielding the ladle like a drumstick, Frodo beat on the copper pot and said in a loud voice, "Dwarves! The Dwarves are back! The Dwarves are coming!" The pot and ladle made a terrible racket.
Two squeals echoed through the pantry, followed close by two fleeing hobbit-fry, trailing dirt as they scrambled past Frodo and Merry and ran straight out of the backdoor. Frodo and Merry both laughed heartily, and Frodo patted Fatty on the shoulder as he grinned nervously.
"Fredegar Bolger, isn't it? Your family lives in Budgeford, if I'm not mistaken. What are you doing knocking holes in my pantry walls, Fredegar?"
Fredegar's smile slid off his face and he stared down at the floor, too overcome with shame to speak.
Merry gave him an encouraging nudge. "It's alright, Fatty. Frodo doesn't bite."
Fatty glanced up shyly, then back down at his toes. In a very small voice, he said, "They... they dared me to do it, sir. They're my friends... mother and father just moved us here to Hobbiton not long ago... I don't have very many friends..." Fredegar held up his hands that were covered with dirt from the digging. He looked up into Frodo's eyes and said, "I'm sorry, M--Mr. Baggins. I promise I'll fix the damage we did... please, just don't tell me mam?" Large tears began to drip down his round cheeks, and he looked down at the floor again and sniffled.
Frodo gave Merry a look; there was a twist of a smile on his lips and his own eyes were bright. Frodo knew how hard it was for a young hobbit to make friends. Had he not struggled to fit in when he first moved to Hobbiton? He had never managed to shake the label of 'outsider' or 'Bucklander', even though his father's family had lived in Hobbiton for more than two centuries.
"I'll make a deal with you, Fredegar," Frodo said as he hung the copper pot and ladle on their hooks. He bent down with his hands on his knees, bringing himself to eye-level with the younger lad. "If you help me fix the holes that you and your friends made in the pantry wall, I won't tell your mother and father what you have done... but you must do something else for me as well."
Fatty drew a deep breath and held it. "Yes, sir. What must I do?"
Frodo smiled and said, "The next time your friends dare you to do something you know you shouldn't, I want you to dare them not to do it. And I would like for you and your family to come round to Bag End for tea sometime next week. I believe that you and I could become friends, if you think you might want a new one."
"Two new friends, rather," interjected Merry, reaching over to tousle Fatty's hair. Fatty ducked his head away, but he was smiling again.
"Now, Fredegar, if you'll go and wash all that dirt off of your hands, Merry shall get us all a cup of tea. And I will fetch some sweet biscuits to go along with the tea-- the only golden treasure that anyone will find in my pantries, by the way!" Frodo added jovially.
As Frodo turned to enter the larger pantry, Fatty boldly stepped up and seized his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Baggins!"
He shook the little hand solemnly, favouring the lad with another quick wink. "Call me Frodo."
IV
Sancho
Frodo was laughing quietly to himself as he walked into the cellar-pantry. This was the room where Bilbo had kept dry goods that did not need the cooler temperatures found in the smaller pantry. The room was lined with shelves filled with all manner of things, and in the back was where he kept a collection of wine-bottles and barrels of beer.
Frodo kept a large earthen jar in that room on the top shelf toward the back. It was there because it was full of sweet biscuits, such as were favourites of his younger cousins. When he knew they were coming to visit, he would make sure the jar was full of the thin, crisp cookies, and then he would keep it hidden so that it could be brought out as a special treat.
So, fully expecting to go in and find the cookie-jar, and laughing because of the ridiculousness of the turn of the day, Frodo was taken quite by surprise when, as he reached for the jar, he received a face-full of dirt!
He sputtered, backing up a pace and wiping his eyes. "What on earth...?" he cried.
On the top of the shelf, all the way toward the back by the beer-barrel, Frodo could see two very large dirty feet, standing amid a pile of rocks and loose soil. The feet kicked some of the dirt out of the way; Frodo jumped aside to keep from getting it in the face again. Someone was digging into the wall, up through the Hill as if burrowing toward daylight. And even as much noise as Frodo had made, the person had not heard at all, but was still scratching away and raining down dirt onto the once clean-swept clapboard floor.
Frodo felt his temper take another blow. "Really! This is quite enough for one day," he said aloud. "You there! Stop this instant and come down."
The excavator continued burrowing. Frodo walked forward and took hold of one of the digger's ankles. "I say, do you hear me? Stop that!"
The dirty foot was pulled quickly out of Frodo's hand, accompanied by a muffled shout, then a young hobbit came slithering out of the hole, slipped off of the shelf and landed with a thump on the floor at Frodo's feet. He was so covered with dirt that Frodo almost didn't recognize his face; he realized who it was by the size of his feet; they were over-large and exceptionally furry.
"Sancho Proudfoot! Explain yourself!" Frodo said, crossing his arms and glaring at the hobbit-lad. Sancho was ten years younger than Fredegar but already nearly as tall as he, and far stouter. Frodo remembered that this young hobbit was often on the Hill, as his grandfather was Odo Proudfoot who lived down on Bagshot Row.
Sancho had a look on his face that was both comical and strange. He looked desperate… desperately embarrassed to be caught red-handed as it were, in the Bag End cellar with dirt on his hands, and also desperate to keep digging, as if he believed that just beyond the next layer of soil a vast sparkling hoard of dragon-gold lay hidden, with jewels as big as a goose's eggs! He clutched his digging tool, a wicked-looking clawed thing that Gaffer Gamgee used to loosen the soil around the rosebushes that he tended for the Bagginses; he clutched it and he looked at Frodo, then up at the hole he had made. He looked down at the tool in his hand and then moved it behind his back, as if to hide it.
"It is a little too late for that!" Frodo said, quite at the end of his patience. "Well? Are you coming out or must I remove you? I have already turned out a handful of hobbit-fry from my pantry... I wonder how many more I will find lurking under the bed! I am shocked and surprised to find you knocking holes in my walls... what will your grandfather say?"
Sancho scrambled to his feet, dropping the digging claw and staring past Frodo at the door of the cellar. Frodo could see, by the expressions the young hobbit's face, what he was thinking as clearly as if he were speaking aloud. When the lad bolted for the door, trying to duck under Frodo's hand and escape, Frodo reached out and caught his collar as easily as picking an apple off of a tree.
But holding on to him was not so easy. Sancho writhed like a fish, turning upon Frodo's hand as if to get his teeth into his arm. Frodo dropped him in surprise, and Sancho landed on the cellar floor on his back. He flipped over and shuffled on all fours as quick as he could toward the door. Frodo caught up with him and picked him up again, this time by the back of the belt. Sancho dangled in his hand like a dirty bag.
"You won't mind if I see you out, will you, Sancho?" Frodo said wryly, and he toted the young hobbit out of the cellar through the kitchen to the front door, Merry hastening forward to hold open the portal while Fredegar followed meekly.
"Caught another one, eh Frodo?" Merry was laughing. Frodo hauled his wriggling prisoner down the steps carefully. "Mr. Gamgee! Bag End seems to be suffering from an infestation of hobbit-fry! Perhaps we should put out a few traps!"
Gaffer Gamgee came hurrying up. "Mr. Frodo! What's tha' you got there... Proudfoot's grandson? I'd wondered when I saw the ol' fellow going back home 'lone this morning! Let me take 'im off yer hands, sir." Frodo transferred the squirming handful to the old hobbit, who for all his age was quite equal to the task of managing a young hobbit, having raised six fry himself.
Gaffer took hold of Sancho by the ear and steered him through the gate and down the hill, muttering grim promises of the switching that the lad's grandfather would have in store for Sancho when he got back to Bagshot Row.
Frodo couldn't help but grin a little, knowing that the fear of it would be harder than the actual beating itself, having been switched by Mr. Proudfoot himself once, long ago. Years it seemed now, a worn memory that could have been an anecdote from someone else's childhood.
Frodo dusted his hands and returned to the smial. Merry was waiting, and Fredegar was looking nervous again. Frodo tousled his hair and sighed, then sank into one of the chairs set in the hall. "Merry, it's time to close up shop! Lock the door and don't open it to anyone today, not even if they bring a battering ram! I am quite weary of company."
"Why don't you just relax in the parlour, Frodo. Fredegar and I will check around for more uninvited treasure-hunters and I'll lock the back-door, too, so you shouldn't be disturbed. I'll take Fatty to the Green Dragon for tea, if you like," Merry added helpfully.
Frodo was quick to agree, grateful for Merry's perceptiveness. He nodded to the little hobbit and smiled tiredly. "Come back tomorrow, Fredegar. We'll fix up the pantry and the cellar then; I am too weary to do it today."
"I'll be back after I see this lad home and stop by Adelard's. Saradoc and Mother are going home today, and I want to see them off. Are you sure you'll be alright alone? I could send Sam along..."
"I'll be fine, Merry! Run along with Fatty here." Frodo helped them check all the rooms, proving that they were alone at last. He waved to Merry and Fatty as they left and then he closed the door. Leaning against it, he listening hard for any other noises in the smial. It was utterly quiet and peaceful.
Frodo laughed, shaking his head sadly. It was not even a whole day since Bilbo had left, and already Frodo was glad to be alone! Not that he wouldn't welcome Bilbo back in a heartbeat, but for this instant, he was very pleased to have the place to himself.
He prepared a cup of tea and took it into the parlour, sinking into a large comfortable chair with a sigh. For a moment he felt too tired to lift his cup to his lips, so he just sat with his head back, breathing deeply. Finally, he raised the cup and tasted his tea; strong and sweet, just how he liked it.
Somewhere between his first sip and his second, a soft knocking upon the front-door came. Frodo sighed. 'Lobelia again most likely,' he thought, 'She must have thought of something really nasty, and have come back again to say it. It can wait.' He returned to his tea. When the knocking came again, slightly louder, he ignored it and reached for a biscuit.