The sound of a scuffle nearly convinced Bofur to turn around.
Nearly.
Instead he went on, and what he found in the room, were four young things, tousling on the floor. The lassies looking after them were at a loss, one winding yarn about the upheld hands of the other.
Taking in the scene, Bofur gave his hands a decisive clap. His work could wait. He drew his little double-flute from its place on his hip, and preceded to take a note, then another. They had'n a prayer at hearing him, but a tune...
So far, he had the lassies' attention, and one of the barrin's.
Finding his tune, Bofur cleared his throat, and he began to play.
It was a winter song, a lively tune, for a dance of the kind one might use to keep warm in the long cold months. A great favorite among the young'uns.
Bofur took a few dancing steps into the room, then out again. Back and forth, once again, and twice more. Then once in a skipping circle about the room.
Two of the little mites were after him now, prancing along. The others were confused, looking from their guardians to him, and back again.
He got the oldest one's eye, and prompted him to sing.
It was a well-known song, after all.
Laughing, the others took it up, and they came after him, skipping and clapping their hands. In the doorway, Bofur tossed the lassies a wink and kept on, his merry tail bawling out a song behind him.
Laughing to himself, Bofur led them on, through the winding streets, back to his home, where Bombur was sure to have something hot and ready to drink.