Notes to Readers:

Happy New Year, all!

Please be sure to leave a review! They are very motivating, and each review you leave entitles you to a free cup of cyber-tea in the parlour (The Muse and I do try to make our guests feel welcome). What you are seeing here is the edited draft. (Thanks to my editor who prefers to work behind the scenes.)

Thanks for the comments! How do you like your tea?

Bookworm, it could be a good thing, unless it just makes him more stubborn (that's what happens to me when people nag me).

Aemilia, it might have been "Jewels" you are remembering. Merry on his near-death bed nags Sam about not having proposed yet

Xena, I have also heard that typing is good for strong fingernails. Increases the circulation in the fingers or somewhat. You're right about Freddy. Recovery is not instantaneous in real life, either.

Runaway Update: Another chapter of "Runaway" is ready to post and I hope you will see it soon. The last chapter is written! Now we just need to finish the in-between material—two chapters? Three? Not quite sure yet. Need to bring Nell's baby in for a safe landing.

Expect another chapter of "Small and Passing Thing" the day after tomorrow, if I can get some online time, what with the holidays and all. Thank you for your patience. Work continues on "Shire" and Pearl Took's story.

***

Chapter 19. Hide and Seek

Freddy awakened to the feeling of hands unbuttoning his night-shirt. He stretched sleepily but did not come fully awake, content to lie quietly while gentle fingers probed. His shirt was buttoned again and the examination moved to his extremities. Finally the bedcovers were restored and he heard old Anise Grubb say, 'Healing nicely, I'm happy to say. There's no sign of infection.'

Ah. He was getting better. If she'd had bad news she'd have asked for a cup of tea and told his parents in the kitchen, out of his hearing.

'And his fingers?' Freddy heard his father say.

'Well now he is getting stronger,' the old healer said slowly. 'Why don't we have a cup of tea in the kitchen? That chill outside is trying to settle itself into my bones for certain...'

Frodo said, 'I'll watch with him.' The voices of the others receded and Freddy felt his left hand taken up. Frodo spoke again. 'Good morning, cousin. I know you're awake, I saw you twitch just now.'

'Good morning, Frodo,' Freddy said with a yawn. It was too much trouble to open his eyes, so he didn't. 'So there is good news and bad news, eh? Most of me is healing, but I'm to lose the use of my hand, it seems. Awkward, that. Too bad the ruffians didn't damage the left instead.'

'She didn't say that, not exactly,' Frodo said.

'How d'you know? You're not in the kitchen, sipping tea and listening to the bad news,' Freddy responded.

'We talked yesterday,' Frodo said. 'I took myself for a walk to her house and we had a cup of tea and a nice chat.'

'I'm so glad to hear that,' Freddy said. 'You've had me worried, cooped up here all the day long; you really ought to get out more.' Frodo squeezed his good hand.

'You're worried about more than myself,' he said. 'You're worried about your hand, and rightly so. There's no sign of infection, but the bones have knit twisted and useless.'

'Ah,' Freddy said. 'The delightful prospect of re-setting the bones, a little parting gift from the ruffians, just to remember them by. I haven't forgotten.'

'You're not quite strong enough, yet,' Frodo said with another squeeze.

'Mercies come in surprise packages, sometimes,' Freddy murmured.

'Good morning!' Rosamunda carolled, entering the room. 'I have your breakfast, my love! Are you hungry?'

'No,' Freddy answered honestly, but he opened his eyes to face another day.

***

Twig was bored. It was something to be living the life of someone else, a boy at that, who could do all sorts of things girls weren't supposed to do. One ought to be jumping for joy at not having to sit sedately and stitch on a stupid sampler, or learn to sit, stand and walk gracefully, or manage long skirts on a side-saddle when she'd rather just jump aboard and kick her heels into the beast to get him to gallop at top speed.

Of course, her parents were not so straight-laced and tradition-bound as some, like old Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, who was always coming around, sticking her nose into other people's affairs, and telling her mother and father that they spoilt their children.

The only thing Twig missed about home—well, she did miss her parents, and even that brother of hers, aggravating as he could be—the only thing she missed was drawing and painting to her heart's content. Her father made sure she had all she needed for picture-making. Here, living as part of a farm family, there was nothing of that sort.

Twig picked up a half-burned stick and began to sketch on the hearthstones.

'Have you got that fire built yet?' Hardy's voice came from behind. 'Twig! Just dreaming! What are we to do for breakfast, I ask you?'

Twig went sprawling, but was up to give as good as she got before Mum's voice interrupted them. 'Boys! You stop that, this minute! Twig, haven't you got that fire built yet?'

'It's all laid,' Twig said. 'I just have to spark it.'

'Then spark it and have done! Da's not going to like to eat his porridge cold and uncooked when he comes in from the hunt, let me tell you!'

'Is Da coming home today?' Hardy said excitedly, as Twig got out the flint and steel. She thought of her fumbling attempts upon her arrival a few months ago, when she'd been delivered here by cousin Ferdibrand, to take up her new role as a boy. 'And the rest?' Hardy added. He was the youngest of a large family of Tooks, and had been bitterly disappointed to be left at home when the rest took up their bows to hunt the ruffians.

'Well,' Mum said slowly, 'We do not know quite where they are, what with chasing off the ruffians with the son of the Thain and all. But we must be ready to greet them at any time. And I, at least, do not care for cold, uncooked porridge, either!'

Mum strained the milk that Hardy had brought in from the small byre and proceeded to put breakfast on. 'Ah, you've got that fire going nicely, Twig,' she said with a wink. 'There's a good lad.' Twig hid a snicker. She wondered if Hardy had guessed yet, or if only Mum, with her sharp eyes, knew Twig's secret.

'Can we go digging, Mum, after chores are done?' Hardy asked later, as they were gulping down their porridge. There was always a race between Twig and Hardy to see who could eat "the mostest the fastest". There were no dainty table manners here, no elegant talk, no scolding for slurping your tea or enjoying your meal. Mum had raised a family of boys, rough and ready, and while she kept things "nice" inside the little hobbit hole, she did not believe in putting on airs, either.

'All right, my lads,' she said fondly. 'Dig away! Just be back in time for tea. I'll pack some food for you.' She knew they were digging a hideaway in the hill behind the screen of some gorse and blackberry bushes, not far from the hole. It would be a good diversion, and keep them close to home.

Chores done, sacks and shovels in hand, bows and quivers on their backs, the lads kissed Mum and marched from the hobbit hole to their hidey-hole. A small stack of boards was concealed beneath the bushes, for Hardy's older brothers had shown him how to brace the sides of a tunnel in order to dig safely. Now Hardy took charge, being the older by a few months. 'You go up top, keep a lookout for ruffians,' he said. 'Sing out if you see them.'

'Wouldn't they hear me if I sang?' Twig said wryly.

'You know what I mean,' Hardy snorted. 'Creep down, ever so quiet, and let me know so that we can set up a defence!' They were talking about imaginary ruffians, of course. The single ruffian that had so nearly throttled Hardy had been the only one seen in these parts, and the Tooks were driving the rest out of the Shire.

'But I want to dig!' Twig protested.

'We'll take turns,' Hardy said. 'But to do this properly, we really have to set a guard.'

'Very well,' Twig said with a sigh and a shrug. Leaving the shovel and fastening the bag of food to the quiver strap, she made her way up the hill, half trudging and half climbing, for the face was steep here and Twig needed both hands and both feet in places. Reaching the top, it was a relief to throw oneself down and dig out a chunk of bread and some cheese and munch away while surveying the surrounding countryside.

The lads had switched off several times, taking turns digging and watching, and were gloriously dirty, though they had quite a bit of digging left to do that day (the food bags, generously stuffed when they'd left the hole, were still more than half full), when Twig, on watch again atop the hill, stiffened. Heart in her throat, she made her way rapidly down to the hidey-hole, arriving in time for a faceful of dirt from Hardy's shovel. This was not enough to make Twig do more than gasp, however, and diving into the tunnel, she grabbed the other in a panicky grip.

'Ruffians!' she whispered. 'Ruffians, and they're coming towards the farm!'

'O now,' Hardy said in annoyance. 'We hadn't decided to play ruffians, now, we were just going to watch for them!'

'No,' Twig gasped, face white under its coating of dirt. 'They're really coming, it's true! I'm not playing!'

Hardy straightened as much as he could in the tunnel, which wasn't much. 'How many?' he snapped.

'Too many,' Twig said. 'Half a dozen.'

Hardy shook his head. 'We can't deal with that many, even with Mum shooting,' he said. 'They're too big.' He thought swiftly. 'Stay here,' he said. 'Wipe out any sign we've been here. I've got to get Mum.'

Twig nodded. Their play-place was a perfect hiding place from ruffians, as luck had favoured them. They didn't want the ruffians to follow any tracks to them, however. She picked up a fallen branch and began to sweep away their tracks in a wide half-circle.