Dreamflower's challenge
In the spirit of Linda's original challenge, this story should feature an animal companion of one sort or another, and include these six words:
grass*
sunshine*
soft*
pleasant*
song*
water *
Robin robin.
"Very good Sam, but did you really intend to write, 'deb' or did you mean, 'bed'?" Frodo held out the slate and Sam squinted at it in the sunshine.
"I got 'em . . . er . . . them, the wrong way round again, didn't I?" Sam's small face fell and he rubbed out the offending word.
Frodo and Sam were sitting on the well tended bit of lawn, beside Hamfast Gamgee's vegetable patch, having been shooed out of the smial earlier by Bell and Daisy, who were tackling the weekly laundry. Neither lad had objected for it was a pleasant summer morning and the grass was soft beneath their outstretched legs.
Frodo watched as his pupil tried again to write the word. Sam managed to get his b's and d's the correct way around most of the time but the word 'bed' seemed to throw him every time. Suddenly inspiration struck and Frodo eased the slate and chalk from Sam's hands. "Think of it as making a bed, Sam. Imagine looking at a bed from the side. Here is the footboard . . ." He drew a vertical line. "And here is the headboard." He drew another line a short distance away. "Now your bed would look silly with the pillows and mattress on this side of the headboard." Here he drew a half circle against the 'headboard', turning it into a 'b'. Sam giggled and Frodo rubbed it out, continuing, "The pillows and mattress need to go in between the headboard . . ." Another half circle, this time turning the headboard into a 'd'. "And the footboard." He added a half circle to the footboard to make it a 'b' and slipped an 'e' between them.
Sam's face lit up as Frodo handed back his slate. "That's right, Mr Frodo. Now I'll always remember it. Thank you." Excitedly, he rubbed out Frodo's example and set too making his own 'bed'.
Frodo leaned back on his elbows and crossed his ankles. At his side Hamfast Gamgee had left his fork planted upright in the soil and Frodo watched several worms burrowing down into the rich loam around its tines. It was an unusual occurrence, for Hamfast was very particular about keeping his gardening tools in good order, but Arty Sedgeburry's cow, Clara, had escaped into the lane. She was making determinedly for the buttercup meadows down by the Water, and all the menfolk were trying to persuade her that the grass in her field was just as tasty. Frodo could hear much excited shouting from away down the hill. Clara's escape was a regular occurrence at least twice each summer, indeed Arty had been heard to avow that he would not declare it summer until she did so. Frodo wondered if he was aware that the local youngsters sometimes prized the hedges apart in order to precipitate summer's arrival.
Suddenly there was a fluttering of wings and a small, round robin, with glowing orange throat, landed upon the fork handle. He tilted his head, looking at Frodo through shiny black beady eyes. Frodo had never been so close to a wild bird and his soft, "Oh!" was noted by Sam, who immediately set aside his slate.
"Bless me. Tis robin. He don't usually come this close to strangers."
Still with his eyes upon the little brown bird, Frodo corrected Sam automatically. "Remember your grammar, Sam. It should be, 'A robin'." The robin leaned forward, tilting its head again, in time to see the tail of the last worm disappear.
"No, Mister Frodo, begin' your pardon. That's Robin the robin," he explained. "He's been following my da around the garden for a year or more. He's very tame. Let me show you." Sam scrambled to his knees and Robin followed his every move as he began turning cabbage leaves, finally producing a fat green caterpillar. "Hold out your hand."
Frodo sat up, obeying Sam's instruction. He was rewarded by having the caterpillar dropped in his palm, where it promptly curled itself into a tiny ball. Sam slipped his hand beneath Frodo's and lifted it closer to Robin. Frodo held his breath as the caterpillar uncurled and began to nose around his new surroundings.
Robin continued to assess Frodo and then the caterpillar. The lads waited patiently and Sam leaned in to murmur. "He'll find it hard to say no to that. He's got young uns to feed at this time of year and him and his missus will be run ragged."
Sam was proved right as, with a flutter of tiny brown wings, Robin landed, his sharp little claws prickling Frodo's fingers. He watched the caterpillar, which had curled itself into a ball once more. Then, with a little bob as though to say 'thankyou', Robin nipped up the hapless caterpillar and flew away, disappearing into a tangle of hawthorn hedge.
Frodo grinned broadly at his young friend. "That was wonderful!"
Sam grinned back, pleased that he had been able to repay Master Frodo in some way for all his kindnesses to him. Both looked toward the hawthorn when, sweet and clear came the mellifluous robin song.
"I do believe Robin the robin is saying 'thankyou,' Sam."
Sam giggled. "'Where's my puddin', is more likely."
END