Sam accompanied his Da up the hill to Bag End. As they approached they could hear singing coming from the open parlour window.

"That sounds like Master Frodo," Sam announced.

"Is it now? Well, I never knew he could carry a tune so well. He's been hidin' his light 'neath a basket, and should stand up at the Ivy Bush of an evenin'." Ham winked down at his son. "Anyone who could spare us from Old Filo's efforts is always welcome to jump on a table and give us a song."

Sam giggled as his Da reached out to ring the bell. The bright tinkle had the effect of stopping the singing in its tracks, and the resulting silence was broken by the slap of feet on tile. Frodo opened the door, smiling when he recognised his visitors.

"Hello Mister Gamgee, Sam. Do come in. I was just drying the last of the breakfast pots. Would you like a cup of tea?"

The two Gamgee's remained at the door, however. "If you don't mind, young Master, we would as soon meet you on the hill. I'm afraid time is tight and I've only an hour afore Sam and me have to make off for the Sackville-Bagginses."

"Of course. Forgive me. My time is so often my own that I forget others are not so blessed." Frodo threw his tea-towel aside at once and stepped out to join them, leading the way up the side of Bag-End's steep side garden and onto the grassy roof. When they arrived beneath the ancient oak upon the hill's crown, he turned to enquire, "Are you sure that I have the skills required, though? We had no Thrimidge Prancers in Buckland."

Ham snorted. "The way you steer the lasses about at the Harvest Reel I've no doubt you'll master Prancin'. 'Tis not much different to a line dance when all's said and done." He collected a small linen drawstring bag from Sam, handing it over to Frodo. "Here's your ribbons and bells to be goin' on with. Have you got white breeches?"

Frodo opened the bag and drew out two shields of round bells, with ribbon ties and two arm garters, which fluttered with brightly coloured ribbons. "Mister Bentwhistle says they should arrive within the week. He has my measurements."

"Well, if they don't arrive in time for Thrimidge Day you'll have to borrow some of my old ones. My Bell can probably bring 'em in and you can pull 'em in a bit more with the sash." Frodo had just discovered that at the bottom of the bag.

Brow furrowing with some scepticism at the idea that breeches made to fit Ham's ample girth would in any way come close to fitting Frodo's slender tweenage frame, Frodo set the small bag aside. "I'm certain Mister Bentwhistle will not let me down."

Hearing some discomfort in Frodo's voice, Ham chuckled. "Well, the offer's there. I'll never get into 'em again, that's for certain sure." He became all business. "Now. Come stand in front of me and we'll start with the timin' step. Sam lad, clap us a beat if you will."

Sam settled, cross legged, on the sweet grass and began to clap a steady rhythm. Ham demonstrated the step. "Tis just a sort of skip on the spot. You don't never stand still when your prancin', 'cept at the beginnin' and the end."

As Ham knew he would, Frodo picked it up at once. "Good, Master Frodo. I told you it would be easy for you. Now skip toward me for four steps. 'Tis the same step, only you move forward a bit with each skip."

Frodo obliged and the two met. "Now four back. That's it. The main thing you got to remember is to stay in perfect time with the rest of the side. The bells on your legs will soon let you know if you're not right and 'twill sound awful."

Arriving back at his starting point, Frodo listened carefully to Sam's persistent rhythm as Ham instructed, "Now, come forward again and make as if you have a stick that you're going to hit against mine. Right hand."

Once more, Frodo met his tutor, lifting his arm to strike an imaginary stick, held aloft by Ham. "When do we get to practice with the sticks?" he asked as Ham waved him back. The two continued to skip in place and Frodo began to understand why the sturdier built Hamfast got so out of breath.

"Tom Buckleby is still carvin' yours. Each stick is made just for the dancer. They don't get passed on, unless it be in the family." Ham chuckled. "And I want to know you know what you're doin', afore I let you loose with one near my knuckles. Now this time, when you come forward, we skip round each other to the four beat, and back to place."

When Frodo got back to his starting position, he turned to find that Ham was in place before him. Ham grinned. "Don't worry, lad. Tis usual to get it wrong the first few times. You skipped to five when you turned in place at the end. You've got to skip three and use the last one to turn. Let's try it again."

An hour later, a rather sweaty Frodo dragged himself into Bag End's kitchen. Bilbo looked up from where he was stirring soup on the hob. He chuckled, waving a mocking hand before his nose. "Phew. You'd best get a wash before you do anything else."

Frodo complied all too willingly, filling a ewer from the boiler. "I think I need to do less reading and more walking. How Master Gamgee managed it all these years I can't imagine."

Bilbo tasted the soup and added a good pinch of salt to the pan. "Ham's waist has got broader of late, but gardening keeps his muscles in good order. Prancing is hard work at first, but you'll soon get used to it."

Frodo set his ewer upon the table, beside the small linen bag. "Were you ever a prancer, Bilbo? You've never mentioned it."

His uncle paused in his stirring, his gaze growing wistful. "Oh yes. I still have the stick somewhere, I think. Unless it went missing when they tried to sell off my home."

"You are a hobbit of many secrets, Bilbo Baggins. I'd love to see it, if you ever find it." Frodo took up his water jug. "But for now I need a good wash and a set of clean clothes, or I shall put us both off our tea."

That evening Hamfast joined his wife by the fire. Daisy sat at the table, showing Marigold how to sew on a button, while Sam worked on his latest letter to May.

"How did Master Frodo's first prancin' lesson go?" Bell asked, as she picked at a knot in the wool she was unravelling from one of Ham's old jumpers. Ham had no doubt the wool would be seen in a jumper for Sam next winter.

"As well as I expected it would. He's a good sense of the dance, and once he's toughened up a bit, he'll manage well enough." Ham grinned as he sent her a wink across the hearth. "He didn't seem too keen on borrowin' my old breeches, though. Ordered some from Mister Bilbo's fancy tailor in Michel Delvin' instead."

Bell sniffed at the airs and graces of gentlehobbits. "Just so long as that Bent Bristle, or whatever his name is, don't go changin' the pattern to suit whatever the fashion is in Michel Delvin'. We don't want no lace nor fancy doodads on 'em."

Ham chuckled as he filled his pipe and set a taper to it, pausing to draw once or twice before continuing the conversation. "Don't you worry, Bell, lass. He may be a tween, but he's got a better head on him than most . . . most of the time."

Bell ignored the rider.

-0-

"Hello, Fern." Frodo waved a cheery greeting to Fern Sandyman as he strode down the road, on his way to Prancing practice at the Ivy Bush. So intent was he upon his destination that it was only as he was several steps beyond the girl that her tear-stained face registered. He stopped and turned back. "Fern, are you all right?"

Fern was seated upon a battered wicker case and looked as though the weight of the entire world was draped about her shoulders. At Frodo's enquiry she only dropped her head, burying a sob in her already soaked handkerchief.

Perplexed, Frodo tried again. "Have you been visiting relatives? Is somebody sick? Should I fetch your mother?"

Her only response was a wailed, "Noooo!".

Frodo knew little about the Sandyman family. Although Ted seemed to have his nose in everyone else's business, the miller kept his own close to his chest. Fern's response told the lad more than he needed to know about the situation in the Sandyman household. "Were you going somewhere? Maybe I could carry your case. Are you heading home?"

Fern finally forced out some words, between sobs. "I can't go home. Da threw me out."

That decided Frodo. This was obviously something serious, probably something best sorted by a mother. If Fern's own mother was not willing to do so, he knew of one whose heart would not reject another in trouble. He bent to offer her a hand up. "Come on, then. You can't stay here. The Gamgees' smial is just a step up the hill, and Mistress Gamgee always has the kettle on the hob."

When Fern looked up, taking his hand, the hope in her eyes cut to Frodo's heart. He seriously hoped that Bell Gamgee would be able to help, for he felt more than a little out of his depth when it came to sobbing lasses.

Five minutes later, Fern's case in hand, Frodo was knocking at the round yellow door of Number Three, Bagshot Row. Fortunately, it was Bell who answered. Frodo smiled, a little apologetically. "I found Fern crying at the roadside and didn't know what to do. She says her father has thrown her out."

Bells lips thinned, then she gathered the girl into her side. "Come in, both of ye."

Frodo had to confess to himself that he would rather have left the matter to Bell Gamgee, but good manners dictated that if he was going lay a problem at another's' door, he should not walk away now. Bell took charge at once.

"Sam, take yer sister out to play for a while. I'll call ye when I've settled up here. If ye need aught, go ask Mistress Mugwort." Having cleared the kitchen, she concentrated upon Fern. "Come, sit by the fire, lass. I know tis a warm day but yer shakin' like a leaf. Can I trouble ye to make a pot of tea, Master Frodo? Ye know where everythin' is kept."

"Of course." Frodo set to, relieved to be spared trying to sort out Fern's problems himself. As a male and a tween he felt woefully inadequate when dealing with emotions. Nonetheless, he kept one ear keenly tuned to the conversation between Bell and Fern.

"Now, lass. Do ye want to tell me what's the matter, or would ye rather it were just we two?"

Frodo turned from the hob in time to see several thoughts flicker across Fern's face. What those thoughts were, he could not discern, but something about them made him feel a little uncomfortable. Now Fern spoke, her voice rough from crying. "Tis alright. Frodo should know."

Bell frowned at the omission of Master Baggins' honorific, but only settled Fern in a chair by the hearth before taking her own, opposite. Between them, Frodo lifted the kettle and poured water into the large brown teapot upon the kitchen table. There was a period of silence, broken only by the tinkle of a teaspoon or the pouring of tea. Finally, Frodo handed mugs to Bell and Fern, taking one for himself and settling upon one of the benches by the table.

Once Fern had taken a swallow, Bell spoke. "Right, lass. Let's have it. I think I can guess, but why don't ye tell me why yer Da has thrown ye out of home?"

Once more, Frodo caught a glimmer of something in Fern's red rimmed eyes, but if Bell saw it she said nothing. At last, the lass spoke. "Ma says I'm expectin'," she announced baldly.

Bell nodded, unphased. "I thought t'would be that. How far along?"

Fern shook her head. "I don't know." She glanced aside at Frodo, a slight blush colouring her cheeks. "Tis two month since my last courses."

Frodo took a hasty swallow of his tea, harbouring the perhaps unkind thought that he should have walked past Fern without stopping. Saradoc had explained about the birds and the bees before Frodo left Brandy Hall, saying that he did not expect Bilbo Baggins to have the sense to do so. He had been wrong. One thing both Saradoc and Bilbo had impressed upon him was that getting a girl pregnant, out of wedlock, was not the act of a gentlehobbit, so Frodo's experimentation, like that of most tweens he knew, had stopped far short of consummation. Discussing it openly was, therefore, a little embarrassing.

Bell cast a sympathetic glance his way before returning her attention to Fern. "Have ye been to see Aster Tunnelly?"

Fern's eyes widened. "Da said if I did he'd whip me. He says I'm not to be seen visitin' the midwife."

Bell snorted. "Yer Da's a fool, and I hope ye'll forgive me for sayin' so. Aster will tell ye whether ye are or ye aren't. If ye are, ye'll need help and if ye aren't, ye can go home." She sniffed. "Although I pity anyone havin' to live under Ted Sandyman's roof."

It was telling that Fern did not immediately leap to her father's defence. "Do you really think I might not be expectin'?"

Bell's homely face filled with compassion. "I don't know, lass. Have ye been over-tired of late? Sick in the mornin'? More important, have ye been with a lad?"

Fern dropped her gaze to her mug of tea. "Da took a switch to me because I fell asleep and let the stew burn. And I ain't been able to keep down breakfast for a week or two."

Bell nodded. "And the lad?"

With Fern's downcast face, Frodo felt, rather than actually saw, her eyes flick his way. "Well . . . I don't like to say."

"Nonsense, lass. He needs to take his share of the responsibility. For as long as I recall, it's taken two to make a bairn."

Fern turned tearful eyes full upon Frodo now. "I'm sorry, Frodo. But I can't bring up a bairn on my own. I didn't want to tell."

At that moment, had one of Gandalf the wizard's fireworks gone off, right outside the door to Number Three, it is doubtful that any of the occupants would have acknowledged it. Frodo blinked and Bell Gamgee's mouth dropped open. After what seemed like an age, Frodo tried to speak.

"Wha … How . . . We never . . ."

Bell Gamgee was the first to recover her wits fully and now her eyes narrowed upon Fern Sandyman. "Are ye tryin' to tell me that Master Frodo Baggins is the father of yer bairn?"

Fern would not meet her gaze, only chewing on her lip before nodding.

Frodo leapt to his feet, feeling both betrayed and angry. "Fern. We have never done . . . I have always promised Bilbo that I would not bring such shame on the Baggins name. How can you say this?"

Now Fern's face grew mutinous, her voice rising. "It were you! And now I'm thrown out of home because of it. What's to become of me?"

Faced with such certainty, Frodo tried to appeal to Bell. "Mistress Gamgee, you know me. I would never get a lass with child. I'm not even of age yet. You can't believe her."

Bell studied him for a moment. "Sit down, lad. I don't want to believe it of ye, but tweens sometimes get carried away. I'm not so old that I don't remember that. Are ye certain?"

"Absolutely. I danced with Fern just once, at the Harvest Reel." He directed his frowning face at Fern. "And we were in public view all the time."

Fern wailed anew, dabbing at her eyes as fresh tears fell. "But what about all them times in the loft of the Ivy Bush, when you came to market? You said I were the prettiest lass you'd ever seen." She turned pleading eyes upon Bell. "I didn't want to do it at first, cause it hurt, but he were so gentle, and after a few times . . . I sort of . . . got a taste for it."

Frodo leapt to his feet once more, unable to remain still under such blatant untruth. "Fern Sandyman, you're lying! I don't know why, but you are."

Bell sighed. "Alright. Ye're both under age so this is a matter to be sorted by yer elders. Is Mister Bilbo at home this mornin', Master Frodo?"

Feeling more than a little betrayed that Bell was not openly taking his part, Frodo grabbed at the possibility of an ally. "I left him in his study. He was intending to stay at home all day."

Bell stood, reaching out to draw a reluctant Fern to her feet. "Come on, then. Tis time to bring this to yer uncle."

So it was that ten minutes later, a confused Bilbo Baggins was ushering them all into Bag End's capacious parlour. Even as she settled into the well padded couch, Fern's eyes were everywhere, taking in the large room with its fine furnishings, and Frodo began to understand. When he caught Bell's eye he saw the same comprehension there, and began to feel a wee bit better.

"Is this true, Frodo?" Bilbo asked, having been briefly appraised of the situation.

Frodo bristled. "How can you ask that, Uncle? Of course it's not true!"

Bilbo waved the lad down when Frodo made to jump to his feet once more. "Steady, lad. I have to ask." He frowned down at Fern, who was avoiding his gaze and worrying at the rather damp hanky in her hands. "I believe you, but it's your word against Fern's, and both carry equal weight to anyone who doesn't know you as well as I."

Frodo sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "What can I say to convince you? Fern, why are you doing this to me?"

Fern continued to worry at her hanky and would not meet his gaze. "A lass shouldn't be left to raise a bairn on her own, Frodo. It's like Mistress Gamgee says, 'It takes two'."

Bell frowned. "Aye. But which two?" When Fern would have protested, Bell waved her into silence. "I think we need to speak to your family too."

Now Fern looked up in alarm. "Da won't like that. He says 'tis all my fault. He won't talk to no-one about this." Her face crumpled into a fresh round of crying. "He says I ain't family no more."

Bell fished in her bulging apron pocket and handed over a clean hanky.

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Nonetheless, as both parties are under-age, it falls to us elders to sort this out. Bell, do you think Ham would be available to ask Ted to visit me?"

"He should be home for his lunch soon. I reckon he could do that. I'd send Sam, but I don't reckon Ted Sandyman would pay him much heed."

"Until then, we need to decide what to do with Fern. I don't think it would be proper for her to stay at Bag End," Bilbo noted with a nod to Frodo, who was biting his tongue.

Bell patted Fern's hand. "She can stay with us until things is sorted, one way or t'other. There's room, now May's away from home."

"Will Ham be alright with that?"

"Ham may not believe the lass, but he'll not see her sleepin' in a hedgerow, neither."

Fern spoke up again, her face stubborn. "I won't go where I ain't believed."

Bell snorted. "Then it's the hedgerow, is it? For I tell ye now, lass . . . the more I think on this, the more I'm thinkin' ye've seen a chance and decided to take it. But there's bed and food for the takin' at my home while we sort this out, if yer pride will stand it. Tis up to ye."

Fern spent several moments chewing her lip, eyes roving a little covetously about the well appointed room. "Alright. But I don't reckon you'll get my Da to speak to you."

"Ye leave that to my Ham." Bell stood. "Come on, then. Ye can pay for yer keep by helpin' me make the lunch." With that she herded the girl out of the smial and down the hill.

Frodo dropped into a chair as soon as the door closed. "You do believe me, don't you, Bilbo? I would never do that to a lass."

Bilbo patted his shoulder. "I believe you, Frodo, lad. I don't know who Fern Sandyman has been tupping with, but I think Bell has the right of it. You happened along at the right moment, and Fern saw an opportunity to turn a miss-step into a step-up. I don't know which lad has been misbehaving, but it looks as though it's not a love match, at the least from her side, if she can throw him off so easily."

"Throw him off?"

Bilbo sighed. "Frodo. I thought we'd taught you better than that. The lad deserves to know that he has a child and Fern is wrong to deny him the opportunity to be a father, even if not a husband."

"What if he doesn't want to be a father?"

"Whether he wants it or not, he has a child. He must either marry the lass, or at the very least provide coin for the child's upbringing," Bilbo asserted firmly. "Fern needs to put a roof over the head of her babe and food on the table. She can't work and look after the child. Unless, of course, Ted Sandyman takes back both mother and babe."

Frodo scowled. "I doubt there's much chance of that happening."

"We shall see."

Evening was well advanced before a knock came at Bag End's door and Frodo's nerves were, by then, stretched tighter than a drum. It was Bilbo who answered, however, ushering Bell, Fern and Ted Sandyman into the parlour. Although Fern kept glancing at her father, Ted stood as far from her as was physically possible in the space available, and looked anywhere but at his daughter.

"Well now. Why don't we all sit down? Would anyone care for tea?" Bilbo asked in a voice that, to Frodo's ears, sounded overly bright.

Ted scowled at an armchair, before lowering himself into it and folding his arms. "Let's get this done with."

The rest disposed themselves between chairs and couch. There was a long silence until, finally, Bell spoke up. "I'll start this off, then. I hope nobody minds that I took it on myself, but I decided we'd best be sure there was somethin' to talk about, afore words started flyin'. I took Fern to see Aster Tunnelly this afternoon."

All but Fern's eyes turned to Bell, with varying degrees of hope. She let them down. "Aster says 'tis sure. Fern is with child."

Ted's scowl returned. "Don't suppose she happened to say who's?"

Bell's reply was sharp. "Aster's good, but she ain't that good, Ted."

"Then we'll have to take the chit's word for it, won't we? Not that it's aught to do with me. She's no kin of mine any more."

Frodo's surprise had long since turned to anger, and that anger had been simmering all afternoon. "I am not the father of Fern Sandyman's child!"

Ted's smug expression turned to an open leer as he leaned back in his chair. "Just what I'd expect to hear from a bloody Baggins. It's the word of the high and mighty Baggins family against the poor miller's lass!"

Bell Gamgee could not hold her peace against such an accusation. "From what I see of your family, Ted Sandyman, there's not a lot that's poor about it, unless it be in manners. That mill or yours turns a pretty penny."

"I should have known you'd be against my lass. You Gamgees have always been in the Baggins family pocket," Ted retorted.

"Oh. She is yer daughter, then? I was told ye'd disowned her. Thrown her out to live under a hedge." Bell's eyes blazed with barely contained anger. "And I'd like to hear what her mother has to say about that."

Ted's face took on the hue of a ripe plum. "Her mother says what I tell her to say. It's a shame your husband don't keep a tighter leash on your tongue, Bell Gamgee!"

Bell was just inhaling for a retort when Bilbo shot to his feet. "Enough! All these accusations are getting us nowhere. There's a child and a young mother to be fed and housed." All settled down to a simmer, and Bilbo resumed his chair.

"You Baggins' have got enough coin to see them right. I don't see what the fuss is about," Ted announced.

"The fuss is about me not being the father." Frodo tried in vain to catch Fern's eye, but the lass seemed to be making a detailed study of the carpet at her feet.

"Well, you would say that. Prove it," Ted crowed.

"You know very well that I can't," Frodo replied. No longer able to contain himself he jumped to his feet, striding to the widow to put his back to the room.

Bilbo suddenly inhaled. "Perhaps we can." Frodo turned about and now all eyes were riveted upon his uncle. "Although I'm afraid we may have to be a little indelicate." Everyone waited expectantly for him to continue. "Fern, I am afraid that I must now ask you a rather indecorous question. You say that you and Frodo have . . . ahem . . . engaged in relations upon several occasions?"

Fern glanced toward her father, who pretended a sudden interest in a picture hanging above the fireplace. When no clarification came from that quarter she straightened her back. "If 'relations' means tuppin', we have. Even though I didn't want to at first. But he wouldn't take no and . . ."

Bilbo lifted a hand to stem the tide of extraneous information. "Don't dig yourself in too deeply, Fern. May I assume that you have seen all of Frodo's body, then?" He winked at Bell, who settled back to see where this was going.

Frodo turned in time to see Fern offer a pert and slightly insolent smile. "I have. Tis a nice body, too. Even if he is a bit skinny."

Bilbo grinned back. "He's got his mother's looks, I think." Then his features sobered. "But can I assume that he's been fully naked in your presence at some point?"

Fern's smile faltered. "Yes … I mean ... no. It was cold in the loft."

Bilbo offered his nephew a reassuring nod before continuing. "But I imagine, during the course of your many liaisons, there was at least one part of Frodo that you saw with some regularity?"

Now Fern's shifted in her seat, and she chewed upon her bottom lip for a moment, clearly worried about where this was leading. "I weren't too interested in lookin' at all of him, if you get my meanin'?" she finally announced, a little cautiously.

"Ah yes. I remember the passions of youth," Bilbo replied with a wistful sigh. "Just where were you looking, if I may venture to ask so personal a question?"

Fern now offered a wide grin. "Where else would a lass be lookin', when she's faced with a strong lad, about to have his way with her?"

Bilbo's own smile held all the warmth of a tiger about to pounce. "I imagine your attention was held below his waist. Did you notice anything unusual there?"

Now Ted leaned forward. "'Ere! Are you saying my lass has been with enough lads to know when somethin's not right? She was as pure as driven snow 'til your nephew got hold of her!"

Bilbo scoffed. "Oh, come now, Ted. We're country folk. We've all seen enough animals getting on with the business of life, to know what should go where and what things should look like. Generally speaking it's only a matter of scale. Add to that the fact that most tweens have sense enough not to go too far, but generally all have done a bit of exploring along the way. Ask a tween, lad or lass, to draw the male member, and I think most could provide a fair rendition."

Ted subsided and Frodo could feel the blood rising to his face. Fern was also blushing. Bilbo graced Frodo with an apologetic look. "Fern. Did you notice anything different regarding Frodo's . . . ahem . . . member?"

"Member?" Fern asked in confusion.

Ted sighed, rolling his eyes. "His stick, lass. His stick. Grief. I should have disowned her long afore now. She's all the sense of a headless chicken. Gets it from her mother's side."

Fern's blush deepened. "It looked pretty much like everyone else's I suppose," she replied slowly.

"Nothing unusual in shape or colouring, then?" Bilbo persisted, as Frodo turned as red as a beet.

Fern, on the other hand, had gone from pink to white within the space of that question. "I . . . erm . . . it were a bit longer than usual . . . I think." Under other circumstances Frodo would have been flattered.

"But otherwise, nothing unusual?" Bilbo persisted.

Once more, Fern chewed her lip before replying, a little uncertain now, "No."

Bilbo nodded. "Fern, may I ask you to join Bell in the kitchen for a moment?"

"Why?"

"I think we have embarrassed Frodo enough. If he has to bare a portion of his anatomy for inspection, I think he would prefer not to do so within the presence of two females. And, Fern," Bilbo frowned at the girl as she arose. "I suggest you use this opportunity to reconsider your accusations against my nephew."

Fern bridled, turning to Bell for support. "Is he calling me a liar again?"

Bilbo seemed in no mood to give any quarter. "Oh, I know you are a liar, Fern. But I can understand why, I think. Thrown out of a comfortable home, I imagine Bag End looks like a good alternative. But I don't think you would have been happy here, in the end. Now, go with Mistress Gamgee. Perhaps she can help you, where I cannot."

When Fern looked as though she would protest further, Bell just spun her about and shooed her from the room. Fern scuttled off to the kitchen, followed by the bemused Bell.

Ted Sandyman narrowed his eyes. "What do you know, Bilbo Baggins? I hope you ain't been doin' stuff an uncle shouldn't."

Now it was Bilbo's turn to appear scandalised and he did it well. "How dare you imply such a thing! I only know because I was told by the lad's father when Frodo was born, that he has inherited the Baggins family birthmark." He lifted enquiring brows at his nephew and Frodo gave a minute nod. His uncle continued. "Do we really need an unveiling, or will you accept my word?"

Ted stood and for a moment Frodo thought he may actually insist upon the examination. "I'll take your word, for the lad's sake. Although why I should, I'll never know."

Frodo released a long sigh and Bilbo continued, "The birthmark always occurs in the same place, a place that would have been very visible to Fern, had Frodo been engaging in the activities necessary to conceive a child."

Ted Sandyman grinned and Frodo could almost see him filing away that bit of information for future humiliation. "Is that so?" He climbed to his feet, brushing a non-existent speck of dust from his lapel. "That's it, then," he announced, with all the concern of someone who had just been told that Tuesday followed Monday. "I'll be off home. My missus will be thinkin' you've locked me up and thrown away the key."

Bilbo stepped in front of him. "Not so fast. You cannot just go throwing away your daughter, like chaff in the wind."

"I'll thank you not to go stickin' your nose in my business, Bilbo Baggins, esquire. And you've just proved it ain't got nothin' to do with you."

"The fate of a young girl and her child is the business of any caring member of this society," Bilbo avowed with some heat. "If you are not prepared to keep the lass at your home, at least take action to discover the father, or provide some kind of support for her yourself. She is young and she is frightened. Why else would she make the accusation she has?" Bilbo's voice softened. "Show some pity. Fern is your flesh and blood after all. Have you never made a mistake, Ted?"

Ted studied his toes for a moment, and for the first time since walking through the door, Bilbo saw a glimmer of love. "Damn you, Bilbo. Alright. Get her things and I'll take her home. But I'll find the lad responsible, if I have to shake it out of her."

"Please don't do that." Frodo pleaded. "She's very frightened, and once she starts to . . . to show, the lad will probably come forward anyway."

"Alright, alright. All this didn't sit right with her mother anyways."

Frodo smiled. "I'll go and fetch her. I think her belongings are at the Gamgee's smial."

That same evening Bilbo and Frodo sat before the fire in the parlour. Bilbo was smoking his pipe and the sweet smell of Old Toby drifted in the air. For the first time all day, Frodo felt himself relaxing and he lifted a book from the table at his side.

"Feeling a bit better, lad?"

He looked up to find Bilbo smiling kindly at him. "Yes. Bilbo, I was so scared. I will probably marry one day but I want to be with a lass that I love."

"I know, lad. Lots of folk make a go of it but love oils the wheels."

"I want a marriage like my parents, or the Gamgees." He paused before adding, "Well . . . maybe with not as many children as the Gamgees."

Bilbo chuckled. "You don't get to choose the number of children, lad. We're not elves. And children are a natural result of loving."

Frodo could feel himself colouring again. "Bilbo, did my father really tell you about the birthmark?"

"No. But I watched Primula bath you when you were but a few weeks old."

"Oh. I'm glad you did."

"I'll always watch over you, lad." Bilbo opened his own book and soon the only sounds within the room were the crackle of the fire and the turning of pages.

-0-

Frodo threw himself down on the blanket, accepting a clap on the back from Hamfast Gamgee. "Well done, Master Frodo. You only got one turn wrong and that's not bad for a first proper go at Prancin'." He leaned in a little closer. "Truth told, even for your first go, you managed better than some of the older ones. Tis time we had some new blood."

Frodo accepted a glass of elderflower cordial from Bilbo. "Did your sons, Hal and Ham, not wish to join the Prancers?" he asked after downing nearly half the glass in one gulp.

Bell Gamgee smiled a little sadly. "They didn't really have a chance. They was 'pprenticed off afore they could be asked." Her smile brightened and she raised her cup in salute. "But we've got a new person to show fer the Hill."

Bilbo and Hamfast raised their cups. "To Frodo Baggins. Hobbiton's latest Thrimidge Prancer," Bilbo announced, and all three saluted the lad.

Hamfast lifted Frodo's Prancing stick, its tip trailing coloured ribbons, and studied it with a frown. "This ain't the one Tom Buckleby carved for you."

Frodo grinned at his uncle. "I hope you don't mind, but I borrowed Bilbo's old one, just this once."

Bell chuckled archly. "You do know as how the Prancin' Pole them couples is dancin' around, and them sticks ye've all been wavin' about, is supposed to stand in fer somethin' else?"

Frodo frowned. "Something else?"

Bilbo chuckled. "Thrimidge was once a fertility festival. Although most of the symbolism has been lost under tradition. There's a reason Ted Sandyman referred to the male member as a stick." He winked, pointing to a small rendition of a crescent moon part way down the borrowed Prancing Stick's length. "You'd better get Tom to make an adjustment to the carving on yours." As light dawned, Frodo blushed furiously, much to the amusement of the adults.

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