Boffin's Farm was heaving with workers. There was less than a field left to reap, and everyone was eager to get the job done for the start of the festival. Golden seams of freshly cut wheat crossed the field, waiting to be taken in, and there was still more to go. At the very end of the field was the barn, and to the East of that was the Boffin family home. The two Took lasses and Abelia walked daintily between the rows of wheat, parasols open and petticoats rustling. They passed a group of reapers made up of Delver lasses. When she was sure she was out of their eye line Clover stopped her work, and rested on the handle of her scythe. She watched them as they made their way towards the farmhouse, a faraway look on her face.

"You all right there?" Meg said, rubbing her aching shins.

"They're like butterflies, ain't they?" Clover said. "Or blossoms."

"Eh?"

"Delicate, and colourful, and clean. They hardly touch the ground." She heaved her scythe up and got back to work. "Not like us."

"Don't get taken in, sister," Maizey said. "They may dress pretty, but they use the privy like the rest of us."

Poppy wrinkled her nose in disgust. "D'you have to be so vulgar?"

"I'm only telling the truth."

"Don't mean you should."

Maizey took a moment join Clover in watching the trio. "Why'd they need parasols anyway? It's not as though they're out all day like us. Why don't we get parasols?"

"'Cus they don't need to do nothing besides looking pretty," Meg said, and grinned. "Besides, we don't have enough hands for a scythe and a parasol."

There was a brief silence and then Maizey said, "If they're flowers, what are we?"

A small smile appeared on Clover's face, despite her best efforts to hide it. "Turnips," she said.

The three butterfly lasses were oblivious to this commentary. Abelia watched as they passed another cluster of labourers. "I wouldn't like to work all day like they do," she said, taking care to keep her voice low. "Though I suppose it must be nice to be out in the fresh air all day."

"I don't imagine all that sun would do my hair much good," Opal said, running a hand through the loose black curls that fell to her shoulder.

"I can see Sango," Tiger Lily said, and pointed to a gentlehobbit stood between the barn and the farmhouse. It was the first time she'd spoken since they'd left North Bank Row. "Rowley!" she called, waving to him.

"Oh, for goodness sake." Opal grabbed her hand and pulled it down. "Anyone would think you hadn't seen him for months." Out of the corner of her eye she could see Abelia smirking. "What's funny?"

"Oh, nothing," she said. "I was just thinking you didn't have to be so hard on her. After all, there's nothing wrong with having one very good friend."

There was something about the choice of the word 'one', rather than 'a' that Opal didn't like. She looked over at Tiger Lily. Her shoulders were hunched and tense, and she was staring at an invisible point in the distance. The overall impression was that she was trying to retreat into her non-existent shell.

The young gentlehobbit, who had returned Tiger Lily's wave with a smile, was coming to meet them. Sango Boffin always managed to put those who met him in mind of a lapdog puppy, being too mindlessly cheerful for his own good. Now within hearing distance he said, "Hello, ladies. If you're here to see Rico, I'm afraid he's not here at the moment." He addressed this last comment to Abelia specifically.

"Blast. Do you know where he might be?" she said.

"No, sorry."

"Ah well, I won't take up any more of your time," she said. "Goodbye Opal. Lily. It was nice walking with you both." With that she trotted off back towards the farm gate.

"So what can I do for you, Miss Opal?" Sango asked, rubbing his hands together.

"I'm here to help with the festival, unlike some," she said. "How's it all going so far?"

"Well enough, well enough," he said. "There have been a few problems, though. The bailiff's ill, and Rico's being… himself. I'm glad you're both here, because otherwise it's really just me on my own. Opal, if you could see how Cook's managing— Oh dear." He had spotted Mr Delver, who was approaching them with a grim expression on his face. "Yes, Jon?"

"The front right wheel's gone on the cart, sir," he said.

Sango looked over at the cart, which was a little way off and loaded with sheaves of wheat. The ponies were still harnessed in, and there was a group of lads gathered around it, looking at Sango expectantly.

"Uh…" Sango covered his face with his hands and leaned back.

"I'll just be off to the kitchens, shall I?" Opal said.

Sango removed his hands and straightened up. "Yes, you do that. Jon, you and the others unload what's already on the cart and bring it into the barn by hand. I'll have a look in a second."

"As you say, sir."

Mr Delver and Opal went off in opposite directions, leaving Tiger Lily and Sango alone together. The pair had met when they were six and seven respectively, and neither could remember a time before the other had been there.

Sango smiled sadly, and then rested his head against Tiger Lily's shoulder. She patted his back. "There, there."

"Make it all go away," he said into her collarbone. "Can you do that?"

She looked up at the sky. "No, sorry. It'll all be over by tomorrow," she said. "You're managing beautifully. I wouldn't be able to cope with all of this."

"I'm just pretending to know what I'm doing." He straightened up and smiled again, happily this time. "Hopefully the wheelwright will send his older daughter. You know. Lavender."

"Oh, yes. Her." Sango had admired her for some time, though he had yet to talk to her about anything other than wheels. "I forgot you're a great lover."

"The greatest." His grin was brighter than the sun.

"The reason I'd forgotten," she continued and folded her arms. "Is that it's been so long since I've seen you with a lass."

"Quality over quantity, my dear. I meant courtships," he added quickly when he saw Tiger Lily's expression. "Not the lasses themselves."

"Good."

"I'd better see what's happened." He started to head towards the cart. "I'll only be a minute," he called to her over his shoulder.

Tiger Lily was left alone at the edge of the field. She felt awkward and out of place. Although, she reflected sadly, feeling awkward and out of place was what she was best at. Nervously, she started to scratch at the handle of her parasol with her nails.

She watched Sango inspect the wheel, and speak to Mr Delver, though she couldn't hear what they were saying from that distance. The lads had started unloading the cart and were carrying the wheat to the barn. Mr Delver unstrapped one of the ponies and started to lead it away to the stables. Sango called over a young lad of about ten, and handed him a piece of paper, pointing to the farm gate and the road leading down into Bywater, before unharnessing the other pony and following Mr Delver to the stables. Tiger Lily stayed where she was, and hoped vaguely that she hadn't been forgotten about. She watched the lads carrying the wheat, and wondered if she should offer to help. They'd probably laugh at me, she thought.

One of the lads was carrying twice the amount of the others. He was around her age, broad-shouldered and tousle-haired. He was sweating profusely, and his shirt was clinging in such a way as to highlight his muscles, which stood out under the strain of his load. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone. His name was Rob Delver, but she didn't know this.

Jonson, who had reached the barn before his brother, was leaning against a wall and getting his breath back. When Rob reached the barn and unloaded the wheat Jonson nodded at Tiger Lily.

"You've got yourself an admirer," he said.

"Huh?" Rob, wiping his brow with a sleeve, turned, and made eye contact with Tiger Lily.

"I reckon you're in there," Jonson said. "Posh lasses like a bit of rough."

Had Tiger Lily heard Rob's response, she would have insisted that she didn't know what those words meant. As it was, she hadn't realised she'd been staring until Rob had seen her. Now she had turned away, and was blushing from ear to ear.

Opal had just returned from the house, and was watching at her with a bemused expression. "What's wrong with you?" she asked.

"A farm lad saw me staring at him," Tiger Lily said. Her voice came as a high-pitched squeak.

"Oh. Is that all?" Opal surveyed the group of lads at by the barn. Rob was marching back to the cart, while Jonson was following and trying to rile him up again. "Well. Serves you right for spying," she said.

"I wasn't spying," Tiger Lily said indignantly, turning to face her cousin.

Opal raised her eyebrows. "Oh, you needn't look that ashamed, I'm sure lots of lasses do it."

Tiger Lily was whimpering to herself, one hand over her face. "I can never come here again," she said. "I can never leave the hole again. Wherever I go and whatever I do, everyone will know me as the lass who—"

"Don't be silly. Oh, look, Sango's back."

Tiger Lily peered out from between her fingers. Sango was indeed coming back from the stables, and making his way towards them. Behind him, Mr Delver was pulling a handcart.

"I've sent a lad down to see the wheelwright," Sango said. "Hopefully he'll be able to spare someone to take a look. And we managed to dig out this old thing." He gestured in the direction of the hand cart. "It's not in perfect condition, but it'll do for now. Are you all right, Tills? Only you've gone all red."

"I think the sun's got to her a bit," Opal said.

"I'm fine," Tiger Lily said quickly.

"What did Cook say?" Sango asked.

"That one of the barrels of beer has been mysteriously emptied since last week," Opal said.

Sango groaned. "Why is everything… All right, then. If you'd like something to do—" He looked at Tiger Lily and dug into his waistcoat pocket. "You could go down to the Green Dragon and see if they can spare a barrel." He pushed a few coins into her hand.

"I'm not sure I can" she began.

"You'll be fine. It's nothing to worry about. Of course, you need someone to go with you; a good, strong lad," he said, scanning the wheat field.

Tiger Lily noticed Opal's wicked grin, and only realised what it meant a second too late.

"What about that one?" Opal said, pointing to Rob.

Sango squinted out into the field. "He'll do. Strong as an ox, that one. You!" he called, and waved to Rob. Rob, who was just emerging from the barn having helped pull the hand cart, pointed to himself questioningly. Sango nodded and beckoned him over.

Rob approached nervously, his shoulders slightly stooped. "Can I help, sir?" he said. He and Tiger Lily made brief, awkward eye contact.

"Yes, you can," Sango said, oblivious. "It's Hender, isn't it?"

"I'm Rob, sir."

"Sorry, Rob. Miss Took is going to pick up some extra beer for this evening, and someone needs to help her bring it back. Does that sound like something you could do?"

"Aye, sir," Rob mumbled.

"Good lad. Now, Opal—"

Sango preceded to tell Opal how she could help him get the weekly wages ready to be handed out. Tiger Lily was able to give her one last scowl before turning to Rob. "Shall we head off, then?" she said.

"As you wish, miss," Rob said.

They slowly made their way around the field, towards the farm gate. There was a steely silence. Rob kept his eyes turned resolutely to the ground. Tiger Lily couldn't get rid of the feeling that she should say something, and opened her mouth to speak several times, but couldn't quite bring herself to say the words. It didn't help that stood next to him she felt like a child, with her hair in bunches and a dress that was all frills and ribbons. Finally, they were on the lane to the Dragon, and she was convinced that they were out of view of the farm lads and, more crucially, Opal. She gathered her courage.

"I'm really very sorry," she said, trying to get all the words out at once. "I know I shouldn't have stared, I don't know what I was thinking. I can't imagine how embarrassed you must have been and, and…" She trailed off. Rob was looking at her now, eyebrows raised. "I'm sorry," she finished. She felt this wasn't really enough, but wasn't sure if she could ever apologise enough to satisfy anyone, least of all herself.

"'s all right," Rob said, in a gruff voice. "No need to get yourself worked up."

Tiger Lily relaxed slightly. "Thank you. Sorry." She shook her head. "Sorry, I should apologise for apologising. And I've just apologised for apologising for apologising. Ugh." She massaged her forehead. "And I almost apologised again. I'd keep going all day, given the chance."

"Right."

She could tell he was uncomfortable. She was used to seeing that reaction in Hobbits, when she was the one they were talking to. She couldn't help but notice his skin was still damp. "Would you like to use my parasol?" she said. When she saw his confused expression she tried to explain. "I just feel bad because you must have been out in the sun all day, and I haven't. I know it's not very masculine, but I felt I should offer." She was trembling with anxiety.

"Right. I'm fine, thank you, miss."

Up ahead, the young lad who'd been sent to the wheelwright was walking towards them, back up to the farm. He was trying to cartwheel, but couldn't properly get his legs in the air. A little way behind him, a plump lass with blue eyes was following. The lad caught sight of Rob, and gave up his cartwheeling to run up to them.

"Where you going, Rob?" he said.

"On an errand for Master Sango. I'll be back soon." Rob said.

"Who's this?" the lad asked, looking at Tiger Lily.

"I'm Tiger Lily," Tiger Lily said, in what she hoped was a suitably cheery tone to use with a child. "Hello."

"Introduce yourself, lad," Rob said. "Polite like."

"Hello Miss Tiger Lily. I'm Master Martin Delver," the lad said.

"Nice to you meet you, Master Martin." she said, trying to smile.

"Cheers, miss. See you back at the farm, Rob," Martin said, going back to his half-running, half-cartwheeling journey back to the farm.

"That ain't no way to answer a lady. And if you break your neck doing handstands, I'll not carry you home," Rob called after him, but the lad either didn't hear or didn't care. Rob turned to Tiger Lily, looking bashful. "Sorry, miss. He's just being contrary."

"Oh, it's all right," Tiger Lily said, trying to laugh a little. "He's very sweet. Is he your brother?"

"Aye, miss. My youngest. I've got six of 'em."

"Gosh." Tiger Lily did her best to mask her surprise. "I've only got one. Bandobold. He's fifteen. A little older than Martin, I think."

"Martin's eleven." Rob stayed silent for a time, but had a question burning on his lips. He and Tiger Lily passed the blue eyed lass. He nodded. "Afternoon, Lavender."

"Rob."

After she'd gone past he decided to let his curiosity get the better of him. "So… your brother named after Bullroarer, then?"

"Hmm?" She had been distracted by a squirrel that had run across their path. "Oh, yes."

"Right. Was he your great-great grandfather, or something, then? You don't have to say if you don't want," he added quickly. "It ain't none of my business."

She shrugged. "I've been told all of this so many times that I may as tell others when they ask. Bandobras was my great-great-great—" She was counting the 'great's on her fingers. "—great-great uncle. I think that's right. Father just loves all those old stories about the adventures the Tooks used to go on. I think that's why poor Bandobold was given his name."

"Huh. I don't think Mum and Dad put much thought into our names. They probably thought more about Nutmeg, since she was the first, but after that there were so many of us they didn't have the time to think up interesting names." He chuckled.

Tiger Lily wasn't sure whether he would take offence at her laughing, or not laughing, so she compromised by grinning. "Surely not. The name 'Rob' is nice. It suits you." Her face fell suddenly. "Sorry, that was too forward, wasn't it? I don't know you well enough to be able to say whether or not your name suits you."

"We're just making pleasantries. I ain't going to take offence, miss."

"Tiger Lily," she said, distractedly.

"Suits you. If that ain't too forward."

By now they had reached the Green Dragon. Rob went to open the door for Tiger Lily, but she reached it first. She held the door for him, smiling. As he followed her inside he saw it wasn't the forced, anxious smile she wore when she was trying to make conversation, but one of genuine joy.

"Thank you, Miss Tiger Lily," he said.

Sango had been in the house, dealing out the week's wages with Opal when he was informed that not only had a wheelwright arrived, but that the particular wheelwright who had been sent was Lavender Hobble. He had left the room as quickly as he could while maintaining at least some propriety. He had straightened out his waistcoat before leaving the house and strolled over to the cart, and Lavender, as casually as he could.

There was a crowd of various maids and foothobbits in front of the house, arranging tables and chairs according to Opal's orders. The reapers had finished their work, and were helping to being the wheat in by hand, while some of the stronger lads were taking turns pulling the hand cart between the barn and the centre of the field. Lavender was knelt by the offending wheel, her brow furrowed and lips pursed. It was, of course, unusual for a lass to also be an artisan. But Fendad Hobble, who was an old fashioned Hobbit in every other respect, had trained both of his daughters in his trade.

'Had I three strapping sons,' he'd say when people questioned him, 'I would teach them all wheel-making, as my father taught me. As it is, I have one strapping son, and two daughters. I've had to make do with what I've been given.'

Lavender looked up as he approached, and smiled. Her deep red lips parted to show off her teeth. "Hello, Master Sango. Nice day for it."

"Yes. Yes it is." He grinned foolishly and looked up at the sky. "So what's happened with the, uh, you know…" He flailed his hand in the direction of the wheel. A section of the rim had broken away.

"Rot's gotten into the felloes, and weevils've followed it. See here." She rubbed her thumb over the rim. "I can take that off with my hand," she said, and wiped her fingers on her skirt. "I think most of the felloes'll have to go, and at least some of the spokes. We might be able to keep the nave, but I ain't sure at the moment. Of course, replacing the nave'll be more expensive…"

"Oh, that's not an issue." He was mostly sure he knew what she was talking about. "When can you have it finished by?"

"Tomorrow at the earliest. Even we get the afternoon off on a Friday," Lavender said, and smiled sweetly at him.

"Of course. I'd hate to think it was otherwise. And the handcart has been surprisingly effective. Can I help you take it back to your workshop?"

"Nah, Nickon can help me with it, he should be coming up later for the festival. Unless, of course you want it gone this minute."

"No, no. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you. You'll be staying for the festival yourself, then?" he said, while trying to sound interested enough to be friendly, but not so interested as to be strange.

"Oh, of course." She rested a hand on his upper arm. "You couldn't keep me away."

He grinned, and could feel a slight flush of heat on his face. "Well, it'll be all the more cheerful for your presence."

She laughed, and moved her hand down his forearm. "You're a proper gentlehobbit, Master Sango." She glanced in the direction of a farm lad—Sango vaguely recognised him as the eldest of Mr Delver's sons—and her expression darkened. "Unlike some. I think I might stay and help get the grain in," she said. She didn't take her eyes off the Delver.

"Won't your father miss you?"

"No, he'll be shutting up soon." Lavender finally turned her attention back to Sango. The smile returned. "There's not much point in my going back just to arrive here again in an hour," she said and let go of his arm.

"Quite. That's very generous of you, Miss Lavender," Sango called as she walked away.

She turned around and walk backwards for a few steps, just long enough to say, "Don't think nothing of it, Master Sango."

Sango watched her for a while, and then looked over the field. Everyone seemed to be getting on well enough without his intervention. With everyone on the farm helping, it looked like they might actually be able to get all the wheat in in time for the start of the festival. He spotted Tiger Lily and Rob making their way to the house, rolling a barrel along in front of them. As he approached he started to make out the end of their conversation.

"—an' no one knew what to do," Rob said.

"So what happened?" Tiger Lily said.

"We caught it in the end. Nasty bugger it was."

"Don't use such language, Master Rob. You're speaking to a lady," Sango said. Both of their heads turned to look at him.

Rob stood to attention and averted his eyes to the ground. "Beg your pardon, sir. And miss. I forgot myself."

"He was talking about the pig that got out at last harvest," Tiger Lily said.

"I remember. Well, I can't fault your description of his character, Rob. Even if I wouldn't have been so coarse in my language. Could you get the barrel over to the tables, please?"

"Aye, sir."

"Tills, could you come with me to the house?"

"Yes, of course." She stepped daintily around the barrel and smiled at Rob. "It was nice to meet you, Rob."

"And you, miss."

As Sango and Tiger Lily walked side by side to the house, he said, "You've made a friend then?"

"Maybe. I think. Did the wheelwright send your favourite of his daughters?" She lightly nudged him as they walked.

He laughed a little, and kept his eyes on the house. "Yes. He did." He looked behind them. Jonson and Lavender had gone behind the barn together to shield themselves from the sight of the other farm workers. Sango, however, was looking at the barn side-on, and so got an adequate view of their heated discussion. "She seems to be a little preoccupied at the moment," he said, forlornly.

Among the labourers getting the wheat in were Meg and Jack Delver. The rest of their siblings were there as well, scattered evenly across the field.

"We should've been done by now," Meg said, and adjusted the sheaves she was carrying under each arm.

"Ah well. Just think of the sweet debauchery that's to follow," Jack said, squinting in the sunlight. "It's the last chance you'll have to enjoy it afore you're wed."

"But, Jack, I'm so tired," she whined.

"That's because you're old," he said, between heavy breaths.

"Thirty-two ain't old."

"Nearly thirty-three. That's ancient."

"Don't remind me. They're done then," she said, referring to Lavender, who had come out from behind the barn.

Jack squinted at her. "She's red in the face. That means one of two things."

"Stop it."

The Delvers met Lavender before they reached the barn. "Well, me and Jonson ain't courting no more," she said.

"Oh, Lavender, I'm sorry," Meg said.

"Don't be. How long were we courting for, three months? No lad's worth getting upset over." They fell into walking three abreast. "Don't pretend you're sad for me, either. I know you din't like me and Jonson being together."

Meg shrugged as best she could with her arms full. "It was odd. That's all. Wouldn't you think it was odd if I started courting Nickon?"

"I'll be honest, Meg, I've not given much thought to that possibility." She stretched her arms out to the side.

"Aye, and we'll have to listen to his whining for days," Jack said. "Here, make yourself useful, Lavender." He unburdened one of his sheaves into her arms.

"Let 'im complain to Bluebell Ansley," she said. "Now I'm free all I need to do is find a new lad. Fancy it, Jack?"

"Never," he said with feeling. "Not with you, at any rate."

"Ah well. I think I might have someone else in mind."

They reached the barn and dumped the sheaves. "Is that it then?" Meg asked, looking out at the farm workers congregating around the doorway of the barn, and the last few bringing wheat in.

"I think it might be," Jack said. "For now, at least."