"Sam. Sam. Get up!" Urgent whispers in the lightening shadows.
"Hmm?" He rolled over in his bed, eyelids flickering open for a second.
"It's time to go!" Hands shaking him, prodding him to awareness. Sam rolled over, face burrowing blissfully back into the fluffy feather pillow.
A pause, then.
"OUCH!" Sam bolted up in bed, rubbing his arm indignantly. He quickly lowered his voice. "What was that for?"
"You know well what that was for! Get up!" Rosie kicked the foot of his bed angrily. "Weren't you supposed to meet me at the front gate?" She tossed her head.
"Anyway, a little pinch ain't nothing."
"How did you get in?"
"Same way I always do." Sam's gaze fell on the open window.
"No, you didn't."
"Yes I did."
"At this time of the night?"
"It's morning already, so hurry up!"
"All right, all right."
Minutes later, the two hobbit-children were stealing their way down the front path. They purposed to move stealthily, to creep along silently, like cats on a midnight prowl. Accomplishing their object, however, was a separate matter.
"Be quiet will you!"
"You're the one making the noise."
"You take up so much of the path!"
"Then walk ahead of me."
So it was, with much elbowing and bickering, that the two made their way safely down and through the gate. Sam took stock of the items lying against the wooden gate post.
"Did you bring everything?"
"Yes. Don't you trust me?" Sam glanced sideways at Rosie. Arms crossed, she stood bathed in the fading moonlight. Staring off petulantly into the distance, she refused to turn to meet his eyes.
"Are you still angry?"
"Angry? Why should I be?" Sam shrugged wryly. Turning his back on her, he hoisted the fishing rods and can of worms.
"Just a guess." He waited, counting under his breath. :One, two, three, four.:
"I am upset."
:Five:
Sam reached over and patted her shoulder sympathetically.
"Was it something I did?" He steadied himself mentally, knowing well what would come next.
"Why do I always have to be the one? To creep in your window like a thief, to rouse you from your sleep? Why, Sam? Can't you be a bit responsible?"
Sam, unfazed by her tirade, caught the unmistakable hitch in her voice. :Ahah:
"There's something more, isn't there, Rosie?"
"Oh Sam!" A tear trickled down her cheek, instantaneously removed by a brush of Sam's finger.
"Nothing seemed to go right yesterday."
"Now, now, lass. Tell me all about it."
"First, I broke mother's favourite vase. She treasured it ever so much! The look in her eyes when she saw.oh, I couldn't bear it! It was an accident, Sam, honest."
"I believe you."
"Then that confounded Nick tore my blue pinafore, you know, the one with the white trimming? He ripped it and.and."
"Just let it all out."
"Used the strips to blow his nose! Oh my pretty pinafore!" Rosie looked up at him through streaming eyes. Wordlessly, Sam handed a folded handkerchief to her.
"Thank you. Then, my dahlias got destroyed in yesterday's gale! Oh, Sam, it was such a terrible day!"
Sam covered one of her hands with his, guiding her in dabbing away the tears bedewing her cheeks. Then he pulled her close, comforting her within the circle of his arms, stroking her hair. Holding her away, from him, he smiled reassuringly.
"We all have bad days, Rosie. But it's when we learn to stand and fight after they're over, that we become stronger. Then those little problems don't trouble us so, don't you see?" He brushed an unruly curl from her face.
"Now smile for me, go on."
She dimpled.
"Thank you, Sam."
Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief. He had always found these outbursts trying. He watched as she tried to wrest the can of worms from his grasp.
:But I know her. I know her well.:
With a quick flick of his wrist, he shook her hand free.
"I can manage this. It's only fair after the trouble you had waking me up."
Oblivious to her protests, he strode on.
"Now are we going to catch some fish before sun-up, or are we not?"
"Wait for me!"
* * *
The two sat side by side at the river. Swinging their legs freely in the air, their toes skimmed the surface. A sudden yell from Sam disrupted the peaceful morning silence as an unsuspecting frog gave a startled croak and hopped away.
"A bite, a bite!"
Rosie immediately abandoned her own rod, helping Sam to reel in his catch. Moments later, they stared at the large trout flopping about on the ground. Rosie whistled.
"That's a beauty, Sam!"
"It is, isn't it!"
"Would look good fried and on a platter."
"It would."
After packing the fish into a large basket brought expressly for the occasion, Sam sat down to rebait his hook. He inspected the squirming worm before him delicately.
"Don't you feel sorry for them, Rosie?"
"Feel sorry for who, Sam?"
"Oh, the worms and the fish. It can't be nice to be plucked from your home like that, no siree," he shook his head vehemently. "Set down in a foreign place where you'd most likely die."
Rosie digested his words. Trust Sam to find creatures to sympathize with on a fishing trip.
"I think." she began, slowly, "that maybe they don't have a choice. Take the fish, for example. Now, them fish probably know by now that there are some worms up there that could be a big risk. Probably even seen other fish succumb to the trap."
"Then why do they keep biting?"
"That's the idea. They have to eat to survive so no matter how great the danger, they're going to have to go up there and look for worms." She bit her lower lip thoughtfully as Sam interjected.
"They really want to survive, don't they?"
"Perhaps," she answered, slightly embarrassed, "It doesn't really matter to them whether they survive. But they may have loved ones, fish they want to see again. Fish who do care whether they live or not. Maybe these fish are the reasons why they keep swimming back to danger."
She held her breath, waiting for the inevitable ridicule of her theory. To her surprise, Sam merely gazed out upon the water. When he spoke, his words were not those of scorn.
"I never thought of it that way." Sam looked over at her, eyes softened.
"Makes you wonder, doesn't it?" he ended.
"It certainly does."
"Hmm?" He rolled over in his bed, eyelids flickering open for a second.
"It's time to go!" Hands shaking him, prodding him to awareness. Sam rolled over, face burrowing blissfully back into the fluffy feather pillow.
A pause, then.
"OUCH!" Sam bolted up in bed, rubbing his arm indignantly. He quickly lowered his voice. "What was that for?"
"You know well what that was for! Get up!" Rosie kicked the foot of his bed angrily. "Weren't you supposed to meet me at the front gate?" She tossed her head.
"Anyway, a little pinch ain't nothing."
"How did you get in?"
"Same way I always do." Sam's gaze fell on the open window.
"No, you didn't."
"Yes I did."
"At this time of the night?"
"It's morning already, so hurry up!"
"All right, all right."
Minutes later, the two hobbit-children were stealing their way down the front path. They purposed to move stealthily, to creep along silently, like cats on a midnight prowl. Accomplishing their object, however, was a separate matter.
"Be quiet will you!"
"You're the one making the noise."
"You take up so much of the path!"
"Then walk ahead of me."
So it was, with much elbowing and bickering, that the two made their way safely down and through the gate. Sam took stock of the items lying against the wooden gate post.
"Did you bring everything?"
"Yes. Don't you trust me?" Sam glanced sideways at Rosie. Arms crossed, she stood bathed in the fading moonlight. Staring off petulantly into the distance, she refused to turn to meet his eyes.
"Are you still angry?"
"Angry? Why should I be?" Sam shrugged wryly. Turning his back on her, he hoisted the fishing rods and can of worms.
"Just a guess." He waited, counting under his breath. :One, two, three, four.:
"I am upset."
:Five:
Sam reached over and patted her shoulder sympathetically.
"Was it something I did?" He steadied himself mentally, knowing well what would come next.
"Why do I always have to be the one? To creep in your window like a thief, to rouse you from your sleep? Why, Sam? Can't you be a bit responsible?"
Sam, unfazed by her tirade, caught the unmistakable hitch in her voice. :Ahah:
"There's something more, isn't there, Rosie?"
"Oh Sam!" A tear trickled down her cheek, instantaneously removed by a brush of Sam's finger.
"Nothing seemed to go right yesterday."
"Now, now, lass. Tell me all about it."
"First, I broke mother's favourite vase. She treasured it ever so much! The look in her eyes when she saw.oh, I couldn't bear it! It was an accident, Sam, honest."
"I believe you."
"Then that confounded Nick tore my blue pinafore, you know, the one with the white trimming? He ripped it and.and."
"Just let it all out."
"Used the strips to blow his nose! Oh my pretty pinafore!" Rosie looked up at him through streaming eyes. Wordlessly, Sam handed a folded handkerchief to her.
"Thank you. Then, my dahlias got destroyed in yesterday's gale! Oh, Sam, it was such a terrible day!"
Sam covered one of her hands with his, guiding her in dabbing away the tears bedewing her cheeks. Then he pulled her close, comforting her within the circle of his arms, stroking her hair. Holding her away, from him, he smiled reassuringly.
"We all have bad days, Rosie. But it's when we learn to stand and fight after they're over, that we become stronger. Then those little problems don't trouble us so, don't you see?" He brushed an unruly curl from her face.
"Now smile for me, go on."
She dimpled.
"Thank you, Sam."
Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief. He had always found these outbursts trying. He watched as she tried to wrest the can of worms from his grasp.
:But I know her. I know her well.:
With a quick flick of his wrist, he shook her hand free.
"I can manage this. It's only fair after the trouble you had waking me up."
Oblivious to her protests, he strode on.
"Now are we going to catch some fish before sun-up, or are we not?"
"Wait for me!"
* * *
The two sat side by side at the river. Swinging their legs freely in the air, their toes skimmed the surface. A sudden yell from Sam disrupted the peaceful morning silence as an unsuspecting frog gave a startled croak and hopped away.
"A bite, a bite!"
Rosie immediately abandoned her own rod, helping Sam to reel in his catch. Moments later, they stared at the large trout flopping about on the ground. Rosie whistled.
"That's a beauty, Sam!"
"It is, isn't it!"
"Would look good fried and on a platter."
"It would."
After packing the fish into a large basket brought expressly for the occasion, Sam sat down to rebait his hook. He inspected the squirming worm before him delicately.
"Don't you feel sorry for them, Rosie?"
"Feel sorry for who, Sam?"
"Oh, the worms and the fish. It can't be nice to be plucked from your home like that, no siree," he shook his head vehemently. "Set down in a foreign place where you'd most likely die."
Rosie digested his words. Trust Sam to find creatures to sympathize with on a fishing trip.
"I think." she began, slowly, "that maybe they don't have a choice. Take the fish, for example. Now, them fish probably know by now that there are some worms up there that could be a big risk. Probably even seen other fish succumb to the trap."
"Then why do they keep biting?"
"That's the idea. They have to eat to survive so no matter how great the danger, they're going to have to go up there and look for worms." She bit her lower lip thoughtfully as Sam interjected.
"They really want to survive, don't they?"
"Perhaps," she answered, slightly embarrassed, "It doesn't really matter to them whether they survive. But they may have loved ones, fish they want to see again. Fish who do care whether they live or not. Maybe these fish are the reasons why they keep swimming back to danger."
She held her breath, waiting for the inevitable ridicule of her theory. To her surprise, Sam merely gazed out upon the water. When he spoke, his words were not those of scorn.
"I never thought of it that way." Sam looked over at her, eyes softened.
"Makes you wonder, doesn't it?" he ended.
"It certainly does."
