Chapter 5

***

No crop-thievery," Merry listed, "no chasing of Farmer Grubb's hens, no pie-lifting, no nothing. I'm done. Utterly. Completely. Finished. Done."

Pippin closed his mouth with a snap and dropped to the floor as fast as if his knees had given out, staring at his cousin in disbelief. "Merry . . ." he managed, and because he couldn't think of anything else to say he stuttered out a weak protest: "But Merry, you . . . you can't do that. You and I . . . we're a team Merry. What . . . we always went for mischief together!"

"Oh yes?" Merry said, and now his eyes dangerously narrowed, "Together, is it? I didn't see you running around Hobbiton and Bywater in skirts." His voice nearly cracked at the last word, making Pippin jump.

"But . . . but I thought we said . . ." Pippin began in desperation. He was in trouble here.

"I know what we said!" Merry exclaimed. "'It will be a perfect masquerade,'" he mimicked Pippin's piping Tookish brogue. "'Frodo will never figure out what we did. And look -- you can wear the clothes, Merry! You have just the right build.'" His blue eyes blazed and slowly but surely Pippin was really getting afraid. He just could not figure what was suddenly wrong with his cousin.

Merry ground his teeth in seeding sarcasm. "A wonderful plan, indeed. Making me walk down the road to Hobbiton -- the often-used road, mind you -- dressed like a lass."

Now finally, understanding dawned on Pippin. "Someone saw you?" he said, brows lifting in horror. Pippin had failed to account for that possibility in the heat of his planning.

"Oh, whatever gave you that idea?" Merry snapped.

That was the moment Sam appeared in the hallway, a ladle in his right hand and a great bowl clamped under his arm.

"Mr. Merry?" he asked, concern reflected on his friendly face. "Are you all right?"

Enough was enough. Merry jumped to his feet and waved his hands through the air, indicating his bare chest.

"Do I look it?" he cried out. Glaring at the startled faces of his co-conspirators he stormed on: "I was caught wearing a skirt, a bodice and a frilly apron. No, I'm not all right. I will never set foot out of this hole again, if you care to know. Today whatever good reputation I actually may have had has been completely demolished. And you can be sure Rosie will make it a tale before the moon's up tonight."

"Rosie?" Sam asked and his face turned into an interesting shade of red. "Rosie Cotton?"

"Herself," Merry assured him, grimly. "She looked for her clothes and was thoroughly out of sorts when she found them, I can tell you both!"

"It were her clothes?" Sam gasped, his voice diminished to a thin whimper.

"Including the bonnet." Merry leaned back against the door, closing his eyes and exhaling a deep breath. "I don't know how I let you talk me into doing this, Pippin, I really don't know how."

An uncomfortable silence settled in the usually welcoming hallway. Even the excellent scent drifting out from the kitchen didn't defuse the odd atmosphere. Then Pippin broke into a gale of laughter that resounded from the vaulted walls and echoed in Bag End's deepest tunnels. Sam almost feared to see a black cloud form itself over Merry's head and he expected the hobbit to explode any second.

"I . . . I'm sorry, Merry," Pippin hiccuped, but one look at his glowering cousin made him break into new peals of laughter, shaking the young hobbit even harder.

"Aye, do laugh, Pippin," Merry said in a threatening low voice.

Pippin should have been alerted, but still the irresistible urge to chuckle at the humor of the whole situation held him fiercely in its grip. Merry waited until his cousin had calmed down, then the older hobbit clasped his hands behind his back and eyed Pippin with a carefully measuring expression.

Sam took one step backwards, ready to retreat into the safety of his kitchen.

"You think this is funny?" Merry said, slowly approaching the young Took. "A laughing matter, is it? Wait until you bring the clothes back to Rosie and apologise. That will be fun."

Instantly any wish to laugh was taken away from Pippin and his eyes once more widened in shock. "What? No, Merry, I can't do that!" he stammered.

"Oh yes, you can," Merry said sweetly and dangerously. "Someone will have to rescue our venture and my reputation. Since this was your idea I think it is only fair that you take care of the job."

Pippin opened his mouth, but Merry cut him short by producing the aforementioned bonnet and depositing it on Pippin's head. "Go. Tell her everything. Make her keep it a secret. And pray that you'll find the right thing to say to persuade her."

Pippin stood, paralyzed. "But I . . ."

"The rest of her clothes are hidden under that big bush by the duck pond. You can collect them on your way." Merry grabbed Pippin's arm and dragged him to the door. "I'm sure you'll find Rosie at home by now."

"But . . ." Pippin tried to get Merry to take pity by countering with his most beseeching, 'please don't do this to me I'll be good I promise' expression, but Merry was having none of it. He had taught it to Pippin anyway.

"If I was in your place, I'd hurry," Merry said smoothly, "lest you want naught of Sam's strawberry dessert. In any case . . ." the elder hobbit paused for a moment to open the door, ". . . I don't think there'll be much dessert left by the time you make it back. Or mushrooms." With that he shoved the young Took out of the hole and shut the door tight behind him. All he heard was a terrified "Merry!" sounding from the other side.

With a satisfied grunt Merry turned his back towards the door and marched towards the kitchen, picking up his shirt from the hallstand as he went.

Sam stood still for another moment, blinking incredulously at the scene that had just transpired. Then he grabbed his bowl tighter and slowly followed Merry. Secretly he made a note to never cross the young Brandybuck. Future Master of Buckland indeed.

As he entered the kitchen, Merry had seated himself besides at the table. Sam looked over the glinting copper pots and suddenly felt a great ease growing inside of him. As harsh as the departure of young Master Pippin had been, at least now Sam could concentrate on his task without watching every movement of the lad. He would be able to finish the meal and no food was in danger of disappearing before Mr. Frodo could return. With a relieved sigh he placed the bowl on the table and went for some spice cups.

"It's good you sent Master Pippin to bring the clothes back," he announced. "Miss Rosie would surely be sad if she lost them." His cheeks blushed brightly and he quickly cleared his throat. "I mean, he certainly will be a lot of help to her. He is . . . uhm . . . quite energetic."

"He is," Merry agreed. "Especially so when he's near food, as you surely have noticed." With that he pushed a spoon into the bowl before him and retrieved a large amount of custard, which promptly disappeared into his mouth. Sam almost dropped the cups he was carrying. "Bless me, this is the best custard ever," Merry exclaimed. "How did you do that, Sam?" And suddenly Sam realised just one more reason why Mr. Merry and Master Pippin got along so well together.

***

Pippin Took ran down the path from the duck pond like his life depended on it. The pile of clothes (plus the bonnet) was pressed against his chest, bright colors gleaming in the afternoon sun. Afternoon! Already Pippin had the horrible vision of the meal beginning at Bag End. In his mind he saw the wonderful strawberry pudding diminish to a poor spoonful, until nothing was left but the bare bowl. Clenching his teeth, Pippin increased his speed.

'Foolish Took,' he thought, 'why did you have to laugh at Merry? What a folly!' He had seldom felt his cousin's wrath himself, but certainly knew the warning signs, and had blithely ignored them. 'Foolish, foolish Took,' he thought again. Seriously short of breath, he came to the little green hill where the Cottons' home stood. Panting, he slowed his steps, his fingers digging ever deeper into the clothes in his arms. While he went round the hill to come up the path through the garden, Pippin repeated the words he had prepared on the way. Just a quick explanation, some well-chosen arguments and it would be done.

Squaring his shoulders, Pippin passed the hill's side and came to the cozy yard. White dogroses wound over the fences, spreading a sweet and welcoming scent. In between the flowers was Rosie Cotton, and with her stood her friend Margy.

It should have been a beautiful picture, but somehow it appeared unsettling to Pippin. He swallowed what hesitation there was in him and more or less courageously proceeded, his most engaging smile frozen on his face.

***

At the bank of the little river arm Frodo hesitated. He stared at the water, which looked uninvitingly brown and scummy. The distinct musty smell of silt did nothing to encourage him.

"Most of the frogs are there," the lass informed him, pointing towards a patch of thickly grown reeds. "You can hear them on summer evenings."

Frodo said nothing, but cast a doubtful glance at the thicket. Then he braced himself and made an approach. After all, what was so difficult about catching a frog? He had done it several times back in Buckland. So indeed, why should he be bothered? He just had to be silent, careful and quick. If he was clever enough he didn't even have to wet his hands.

Shoving some reeds aside, Frodo stepped into the shallow water. The muddy brew lapped against his ankles and he screwed up his face in disgust. The lass behind him watched him with eager interest. Frodo sincerely wondered what he had ever found cute about children. Ignoring the slimy whatever under his feet and between his toes, he advanced further. When the reeds had closed behind him and he could see the small river's course through the blades ahead, Frodo heard a hesitant croaking to his left side. A smile spread over the hobbit's face. That went quite smoothly. Carefully balancing on one foot, he leaned forward to shove the hindering rushes aside. Soundlessly, as was a hobbit's nature, he spied through the green rush and discovered a tiny frog in the knee-deep water. Narrowing his eyes, Frodo bent a little further.

The black round eyes of the creature met his and for a moment the gazes of hunter and prey were locked. Then Frodo shot forward, his arm stretching towards the green croaker. But the frog seemed to disappear into thin air, hopping swiftly out of Frodo's reach. One might say that this threw the hobbit out of balance.

Literally.

First Frodo hung in midair, then the next moment he went down in a tremendous splash. Slimy water -- the epitome of disgustingness -- oozed into his clothes and spattered all over his face. He didn't get up at once. Little bubbles surfaced from the place where he lay as his clenched fingers dug into the soft soil underwater.

'Hands clean,' he thought wryly, 'oh yes . . .'

TBC