One night at the Green Willow pub, a group of Hobbits were celebrating. One of these Hobbits was Hurgo Moss, a hobbit notable for his quick tongue and his love of puzzles.
"I'll bet you, Hurgo," his friend, Durudoc Bramble, said, "that you couldn't catch that lass over there." Durudoc pointed across the room to a youngish Hobbit lass, with honey brown curls pulled back from her face.
"I can catch any lass I wish." Hurgo replied. He stood, a little too fast, as Durudoc had to catch his elbow to keep him from falling, and walked over to the lady's table.
"Hullo, miss..." Hurgo bowed formaly and ignored the chuckles from across the pub.
"Miss Burrows." The lass replied.
"Ah. Well, my name is Hurgo Moss. It occured to me, as I was sitting over there, that it's a shame such a pretty lass should be sitting alone."
"Thank you, Mister Moss. I may be alone, but I am not lonely. I'm waiting for some friends."
"Might I be able to keep you company until they arrive? Company is as good ale, it's a shame to waste a good ale, you know."
"Excuse me, Mister Moss, I do not know your intentions, but I already have a suitor, whom I like very well. Waste your ale on your friends, thank you." the lass turned back to her drink.
"You like him very well, do you? Those aren't usualy the words used when describing one's future husband." Hurgo put his hand down on the table. The lass glared.
"They are the usual words because I use them. Back off, you drunken sod!"
"I'm not a Sodd, Miss Burrows, I'm a Moss!"
"You are Madd, that's what you are! Now away, you are wasting ale as you stand! You know nothing about Bogrin and I, so you have no room to speak."
"I have room, alright, to speak and to roam! I have nineteen acres of the best hops in the West Farthing. What does this Bogrin have?"
"Are you sane? I don't care about your hops or your land, or you for that matter. As for what Bogrin has, he has thirty acres of good farmland, and better manners than you. It occured to me one day, as I sat alone by myself, that there are different kinds of drunks: angry drunks, sad drunks, happy drunks. You, Mister Moss, have singlehandedly added a new kind to my list: daft drunks. Goodnight!" Miss Burrows once again turned back to her drink, all but dismissing Hurgo.
Hurgo left the Green Willow feeling rather defeated. He'd been rejected before, and accepted too, but this had been different. Miss Burrows was smart. Not only had she rejected him, she had beat him. He slept badly that night.
The next morning Hurgo left his smial and headed down the road rather aimlesly. He was sure he would be teased by his friends when they found him, but he made his way to the town center as if to show that he had not been beaten.
His assumption was correct, and it seemed as if his friends were all waiting for him. They jeered and mocked about his famous wit. He tried to smile and brush it off, but each taunt wounded him further.
Something bid him look up, and Miss Burrows was there, smiling smugly at him. A delusion, perhaps? A cruel joke of the mind? But she was there, and Hurgo pushed through his friends until he stood in front of her. "I admit defeat, Miss Burrows. You outwitted me." he said.
"Defeat, Mister Moss? So soon? I was hoping for a bit more than that. I suppose I was a bit harsh last night, I wasn't expecting you to put up a fight."
"What?" Horgo said stupidly. He was utterly confused.
"Bogrin has thirty acres, but he has the wit of a rail. And I never said we were to be married, I said he was my suitor. Sharpen your mind, Mister Moss, or I may be forced to leave you, too."
Hurgo recovered quickly, once he realised what she had said. "I'm sure that will never happen, Miss Burrows. I'll give up my hops to buy a whetstone before I let myself bore such a cunning lass. But dear Miss Burrows, there is one puzzle that my aled wit alone cannot undo."
"And what is that, dear Mister Moss?"
"Your name, dear Miss Burrows, is a gift you never gave me to unwrap."
She laughed, and plainly told him.
Yewen Took