CHAPTER TWO
Frodo awoke slowly, relishing the warmth and comfort of the feather mattress and the fresh smell of soft linens. Whenever he stayed at Bag End Bilbo let him lie in. At Brandy Hall that was impossible, with the constant chatter of adults and hoards of children running up and down the hallways. He tried to roll over but found himself entangled. Why had he gone to bed wearing his dressing gown?
"Come to think of it," he thought, "I don't remember going to bed at all."
His stomach began to make its presence felt, growling loudly at the smell of bacon, wafting under the door to his room and he sat up. Breakfast. Now there was a nice thought. Pushing back the covers he found a jug of hot water set on his wash stand, along with a cake of lavender soap and several fluffy towels. Bilbo must have brought them in but Frodo had no recollection of hearing him in the room. He poured water into the bowl and took off his dressing gown, shaking his head ruefully when he saw how creased it was.
At the patter of light feet behind him, Bilbo turned from the kitchen range and smiled at his nephew. The lad was wearing one of his old outfits from Brandy Hall. Perhaps Bilbo could persuade him to change in to something more suitable for the heir to Bag End after breakfast. "Good morning, Frodo. Did you sleep well?"
"Good morning, Uncle. I slept well but I'm afraid my dressing gown is a little creased. I seem to have slept in it." And then he added, sheepishly, "I didn't intend to."
Bilbo worried at the concern in his face, and then remembered that at Brandy Hall the lad had relied on the good will of others to get his ironing done. Such carelessness there, would have earned him a good talking to or even a cuff around the ear.
"That's alright my lad. It's my fault. You fell asleep while you were waiting for supper and I put you to bed. I didn't have the heart to wake you to take it off so I tucked you in as you were. I must try not to keep you up so late in future. I'm not used to having a young one around the place." He felt relieved when he saw a little smile.
"If you hang it up for the moment we'll take a look at it later." Frodo's smile broadened. "Come, sit down and eat your breakfast. I'm afraid you missed first breakfast but if there's not enough on the table there's plenty of bread and strawberry jam to fill up the corners." At his Uncle's kindness, Frodo's smile widened into a grin.
As he had the previous evening, Frodo helped wash and put away the dishes. Then Bilbo sent him off to his room to change in to some of his new clothes. "After all, you're a Baggins of Bag End, now. You should dress the part of a gentlehobbit." Bilbo ruffled Frodo's hair again. (Frodo thought he may well come to dislike that habit.) With a pat of his nephews shoulder Bilbo wandered off down the hall and Frodo went to change.
When he came back it took him a while to find his Uncle. He finally tracked him down to his study. The room was a clutter of books and papers, strewn in heaps on every available surface and overflowing on to the floor. Bilbo was sitting at his desk. "Hello, Frodo. Did you want something?"
"Er……not really, Uncle. What are you doing?"
"I usually do a little writing in the morning. Would you like a book to read?" It suddenly occurred to Bilbo that he had little idea of his nephew's likes and dislikes, other than in the matter of food, of course.
Frodo considered for a moment, eyeing the sunshine pouring through the open window. His Uncle may consider him rude if he said that he would rather go outside.
"Yes, thank you, Uncle Bilbo." He felt better about his decision when Bilbo's face lit up in a pleased smile.
"You'll find lots of books over there on the shelves. Go and help yourself. I'm sure there will be something to interest you." That settled, Bilbo turned his attention to the translation before him.
Frodo picked his way through the clutter to the indicated corner. He did enjoy reading but most of the books he was allowed access to at Brandy Hall were much thumbed and often missing pages, having been read and re-read by several generations of children. Bilbo's books were bound in fine leather and tooled in gold, their spines pristine and unbroken. He pulled one out at random from the top shelf and opened it. The writing within was in a neat flowing hand but the letters did not make sense. He put it back and selected another. Again, he could not understand the language. It suddenly dawned on him that they were written in an elven tongue. Perhaps gentlehobbits like Bilbo only read elvish.
If he had checked the other shelves he would have found ones written in Westron, but he had accidentally found his Uncle's cache of books sent from Rivendell. Bilbo was only one of perhaps half a dozen people in the whole Shire who understood the elegant Quenyan script. Feeling like a country bumpkin, Frodo slotted the book back.
Bilbo was deep in his studies and had not even notice when his nephew slipped out of the room, down the hall and out in to the warm sunshine of the summer garden. He had hoped that when he came to live with Bilbo he would have a close relative, all his own: that he would no longer have to compete for attention. But it seemed that the competition now came from books rather than his cousins.
Gaffer Gamgee was working in the garden, as usual. Frodo sprinted across the lawn to him. "Hello, Mr Gamgee. What are you doing?"
The Gaffer looked up, putting hand to forelock in salute to the new Little Master of Bag End. "Mornin', Master Frodo. I'm just tyin' back these sweet peas. They're gettin' a bit away from themselves."
Frodo laughed. "Can I help?"
The Gaffer stepped back, in horror. "You helpin' me? Why that wouldn't be proper, Little Master. What ever would Mr Bilbo say if you got yourself all dirty messin' in the garden?"
Frodo looked down at his silk waistcoat. The Gaffer's voice grew quiet, and he looked around as if expecting someone to pop out of the bushes at any moment.
"And what if someone else saw? Folks would say that the Gaffer didn't know his place. No. Master Frodo. It's not proper work for the likes of a gentlehobbit."
Having set out his points and expecting no objections to his flawless logic, he returned to the fiddly task at hand, leaving Frodo to wander away, feeling rather stupid. He started a mental list of the things a gentlehobbit was not supposed to do and set gardening just below wearing old clothes.
Frodo spent the rest of the morning wandering about Hobbiton and re-acquainting himself with the area, returning to Bag End just in time to find Bilbo setting the table for lunch.
"Hello, lad. I was hoping you would be back in time to help me get lunch ready, but never mind. Go and wash your hands and then come and tell me all about your morning while we eat." The young hobbit ran to his room to wash, wandering about Bilbo's comment. He had always eaten in the refectory at Brandy Hall and no-one had ever thought to teach him to cook. He decided he would have to start another list of things Frodo should know, as a gentlehobbit, but did not. Reading elvish was set at the top, with cooking just below it.
Over lunch, Bilbo declared his intention to bake in the afternoon and told his nephew not to make any arrangements to go out as he would need his assistance. Aside from making a further cherry pie they were running out of bread so Bilbo advised Frodo that he would be popping down Bagshot Row to ask Mrs Gamgee if she could spare some yeast. That left Frodo to his own devices for a while. He was beginning to feel that he had stepped in to a puddle way over his head. Uncle Bilbo had taken him in, expecting him to be a gentlehobbit that he could be proud of. Instead of that, Frodo was a huge disappointment to the older hobbit. He had rudely fallen asleep, without eating any supper on his first night here, he could not read elvish, he had offended the Gaffer and now, to cap it all, he could not even cook. Frodo suspected that Bilbo would soon tire of constantly having to look after his nephew.
The young hobbit considered the table before him. Bilbo had set it out for their baking session. There was lard and flour, a large bowl of cherries, milk and sugar for the yeast, salt and some little pots of ground spices. Frodo could not let his Uncle know that he had no idea what to do with all these ingredients, not to mention the strange assortment of utensils. If he did not live up to Bilbo's expectations he would be packed up and sent straight back to Brandy Hall. Perhaps there was some way he could postpone the baking. His eyes roamed the table again and finally came to rest upon the large bag of flour. There was a prank that he and Fatty had played o the cook at Brandy Hall a few years ago. Frodo grinned. They had been grounded for a week for that one. (Secretly, Frodo had been quite happy to stay in his room and have all his meals brought to him. Feeling a little sorry for him, his Uncle Saradac had sometimes stayed to chat with the little mischief maker.) He would have to be quick though
Frodo pulled the kitchen door slightly ajar and dragged a chair from the fireplace so that he could reach. Then he collected the flour bag and climbed up. It took him an age (or so it seemed) to balance the floppy open bag atop the door but he finally stepped back, pleased with his work, and sat down at the table to await his Uncle's return.