They bustle in just before breakfast.  As always.  Unannounced.  As always.

“In the rain, Sam? You should hire a gardener!”

It’s a jest, I know...but does he?

They sit and I put down more plates--more for me to wash. 

“Dirt under the Mayor’s fingernails, what will they think?”

They mean no harm, but he flinches and I could kill them.   

“How’d he catch a pretty lass like you?”

I wish they wouldn’t, really, I do.

“We ever tell you about—“

They have, of course. Keep smiling, girl—do your best, at least.

“A tree—walking and—“

I have a lass who needs her bath and a wee lad who's crying and banging his spoon on the table--I don't care about trees, walking, talking or no.

“Frodo lad!  He missed his favorite Uncles didn’t he?”

I’m so tired and it's not even elevenses.

“Aw, look, he just smiled at me, Merry!”

“No, that’s me he’s smiling at, fool.  See?“

It’s raining and yet Sam’s looking out the window.  He’ll go out and give me more laundry to do.  Maybe he’ll catch a chill, doesn’t know when to stop.  And Merry and Pippin will play with Elanor—who knows what she will look like by noon.  I heard one of them talk about mud-pies and the other…

“Rosie?”

She took her hands out of the dishwater; it would be disrespectful to the Thain to keep on, though between his, Sam’s, hers, Elanor’s, little Frodo’s, and the Master’s breakfasts she’d have enough to occupy her for a long while. “Yes?”

He bent to kiss her on the cheek. “Go have a nap.”

Maybe they can stay.