Disclaimer:  None of these characters are mine; all belong to JRR Tolkien.

This is a story that I wrote last summer and posted on ff.net. I pulled it last November, feeling that it needed some serious work (probably still does, but I did my best). Pearl Took encouraged me to work on the story and resubmit it. So here it is…scrubbed--and a bit tweaked.

Summary: Pippin is eleven, Merry is eighteen, and Pervinca is fifteen. Pippin wants to get back at Pimpernel for humiliating him in front of the lads. In his effort to ‘get back’, he learns an entirely different sort of lesson. Yes, I did leave in his and Merry’s madcap adventure! Enjoy…

SMOKE IN MY EYES

Chapter 1 - Humiliation

The warm, friendly banter and laughter was the primary noise factor inside the Oak Leaf Inn in Tuckborough. However, one large table of friends was in particularly good cheer. There sat six young hobbit-lads enjoying a pipe, a mug, and of course each other’s company.

At the center of this table‘s laughter was the smallest and youngest of the companions. Eleven-year-old Pippin was wrapping up another one of his embellished accounts of life at his father’s farm-smial located on the outskirts of Whitwell; a small village located several miles southeast from Tuckborough. Pippin’s stories were usually full of jests about living with three older, domineering sisters. The roar of laughter died down as Pippin became lively with his hands and facial expressions--he learned this always helped to relate a good story.

“You should’ve seen Pim’s face!” said Pippin, having a good belly laugh at his second-oldest sister. He barely paused to draw breath before he delivered the final part of his sentence. “Good gracious me, you’d have thought I just hung her knickers out to dry for all to see!” He laughed along with his friends, then after a moment, Pippin realized that he was the only one laughing. The boy casually followed Merry’s gaze over his own shoulder. Behind Pippin stood Pimpernel, standing with her hands on her hips glowering at her little brother.

Trying to salvage his pride, Pippin took a sip from his mug, sat back in his chair, put his pipe in his mouth and looked at his sister as if she were a stranger-lass. “And what, little lass, can I do for you?” This garnered a couple nervous snickers from the lads around the table.

Pim reached over to grab her saucy brother by the shirt but this time Pippin’s reflexes were too fast. He quickly ducked under the table, crawling out the other side then made a mad dash for the door.

Merry got up and ran after Pim as she chased her brother outside. By the time he caught up to her outside, she already had Pippin by the ear reprimanding him about drinking beer and smoking pipes. A few lads sat outside the inn on the porch watching the discourse with some interest. Pippin could see out of the corner of his eye that the local lads were smirking at him. Young Pippin was red in the face from embarrassment and anger.

Meeting up his cousins out on the porch, Merry called out, “Pimpernel!” This time she looked up.

“What?”

Merry eyed towards the boys and shook his head, “Don’t do this to him.”

“Do what?” asked Pim, seething at her younger cousin--who was only a teen himself. “You ought to know better, too!” Grabbing the smoking pipe from her cousin’s hand, she gave Merry her full attention. “Allowing a small boy to drink ale! You’re not even nineteen years old, yourself!”

Merry glanced at the lads, now giggling at the drama taking place before them. Gathering his nerve, he replied, “I will be the week after next!” Taking back his pipe, he added, “This belongs to my father, thank you very much.”

“Fine,” Pimpernel countered, “I’ll be sure to tell him that when he arrives to claim you next week.”

Merry made haste to take the argument away from him and back to Pippin, feeling that it would be no good for his father to discover the pipe that he had helped himself to a few years previous. “Pippin’s not a small boy, Pim,” Merry contended. “He’s eleven years old--and that wasn’t beer you saw in his mug--it was cider. He’s old enough to sit in a pub and laugh with his friends.”

“Oh, yes? Well, what’s this?” Pim snatched a another smouldering pipe--from Pippin’s hand.

“Give that back! It’s mine!” Young Pippin was only angry before; now he was livid.

“Not anymore!” Pim took Merry’s empty hand and slapped the pipe into it. “You may give this to your father as well.” She nearly dragged Pippin to the waiting pony.

Pippin shouted, “You’re going to be sorry you did that!”

“Yes, well, you can see that I‘m frightened, can‘t you?” Pim believed with all her heart that she was doing the right thing in watching over her little brother--her only brother. She hoisted Pippin into the saddle then climbed up behind him, wheeling the pony round, heading back towards Whitwell.

“Mr. Merry?”

Briefly interrupted in his thought, Merry gazed down at a young lad holding a basket of apples.

“Two apples for a penny.”

Without any thought, Merry reached into his pocket, giving the boy a penny, but took only one apple.

“Bless ye, Mr. Merry!” said the lad, then hurried off to another hobbit.

Merry continued watching his cousins ride off into the distance, slowly munching his apple. Poor Pippin--that had to have been embarrassing for his young cousin. He certainly didn’t enjoy the dressing-down that Pimpernel gave him. Merry loved Pim dearly, but she should never have humiliated Pippin that way.

Later that same day after dinner, Pippin lay upon his bed, hands behind his head in thought…devious thought. The more he thought on that afternoon’s events, the more he festered about it. He had already begun to think about his retribution earlier in the afternoon as he and Pervinca filled the troughs in the barn; it didn’t take long before he had a scheme. Though he also loved Pimpernel, he felt she had no reason to humiliate him the way she did. He wanted to get even. Perhaps not everything in his stories would be an embellishment!

Around midnight, after everyone had gone to bed and shut their doors, Pippin slipped out of his room and into the darkness. He quietly tiptoed along the walls of the dimly lit hallway. He had no problem finding the doorway to the washroom. The kitchen was illuminated by the soft light of a crescent moon peering through the window between the leaves of the rose bush outside, so he had no difficulty seeing the adjacent wash room door.

He opened the door just a crack; it was warm inside from the low fire in the hearth and steaming hot water. The room was eerily silent; only the crackling of the wood inside the fireplace could be heard. Pippin spied that day’s laundry still drying on a bit of twine next to the washtub. Pippin knew that he shouldn’t be in there with the lasses’ under things drying on the line, but he figured he’d only be a minute at the most. Looking at the different pairs of bloomers, Pippin couldn’t tell which ones belonged to whom. He could readily see that the larger pair belonged to his mother, but the rest were all the same size. He snatched one of latter pair off the line and headed towards the door. Before he left, he grabbed a needle and thread from his mother’s sewing box.

Back in his own room, Pippin pinched the strand between his finger and thumb trying desperately to thread the needle. After several attempts, he nearly gave up. Then he recalled an instance of watching his mother lick her fingers to smooth out the frayed ends of the fibre. The clever hobbit-lad imitated his mother. Much better, he thought, smiling to himself as he pulled the thread through the eye of the needle. Trying to focus on that tiny, little ‘eye’ made his own eyes hurt. Quietly, he snickered at his own witticism.

Once Pippin had finished his handiwork, he held up the undergarment, surveying his efforts. It wasn’t the neatest stitching he had ever seen but it would do. He grinned as he imagined his sister’s reaction. He got up off his bed, tucking his prize under the mattress for safekeeping until the morning.

No sooner had Pippin laid his weary head on his pillow that it was already morning. He woke up to the rooster crowing in the barnyard. A few moments after that, Pervinca was knocking on his bedroom door to begin the morning chores. Pippin knew that it was Pervinca because they usually did the morning chores together. “Come in,” he answered, still a bit groggy.

Pervinca bounded inside the room and onto the bed with her teen-aged energy. She was another bossy sister, but Pervinca was closer in age to Pippin and therefore he did have the most fun with her. “You have a choice,” she announced. “Dahlia had to leave yesterday evening and tend to her family’s affairs. So you can either do all of the morning chores alone in the barn while I help mother and Pearl in the kitchen, or we can switch.”

Pippin saw his chance to raise the new “Pimpernel pennant“, so to speak. He took in a deep breath, sounding quite inconvenienced to put his sister off his tracks, “All right, I’ll do all the morning chores alone.”

Pervinca was shocked. Pippin had always hated collecting the eggs and cleaning up the stalls and pens. The hens seemed to like digging little hobbit-holes of their own in his hands while he tried to grab their eggs. Moreover, cleaning the muck out of a cow or pigpen--or a pony stall--was never any fun for either Took child.

Pippin put on his most innocent face, “Why do you look so surprised?”

“Because never before have you ever offered to do the morning chores alone!” She cocked an eye at him, “I completely expected you to help mother so that you could sneak food as you prepared it--like you always do.”

“I would never.” Pippin had a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Pervinca noticed the gleam in her brother’s eye, and smiled in return. Pillow fight! She quickly leaned over, grabbing his other pillow to pounce on him with it. “You’re up to something, aren’t you?”

He laughed, "No, I’m not!”

Pervinca walloped him with his own pillow, “Yes you are!” Pippin countered with a whack of his own.

Pippin felt the weight of his sister leaning on him. Pervinca found one of her brother‘s most ticklish spots--the side of his ribs. “Tell me, or I shall tickle you until--’’

Their fun was broken by a sharp knock upon the door. Pimpernel peered from behind the door in the entryway. The tween locked her gaze on her younger, irresponsible siblings. She was sent by her mother to learn what was taking her siblings so long to get working. “Pervinca, get dressed now and help mother in the kitchen. Pippin, you slowcoach, get your backside out of bed, get dressed and start your chores--now.”

Pippin met his sister‘s eyes. She just renewed his efforts to hoist up the new Took family banner.

Chapter 2 - Repentant Siblings

Pippin had completed his morning chores before luncheon. When he was finished, he went outside, climbing into the hayloft to perform his final task before heading out to the pasture to help Merry repair the back fences. For as much time as Merry spent with his uncle, aunt, and cousins, he, too, was given a few chores to keep him busy and out of trouble. He and Pippin had a tiny habit of finding mischief at some point during his visits. Paladin tried his best to avoid the inevitable.

Pippin watched from his perch high above ground as Pimpernel stepped outside for a breath of fresh air before she accompanied Paladin back to the fields for the afternoon work. He reached up in the doorway of the loft, tacking up the pair of bloomers he had stitched the night before. Pippin stepped back to admire his handiwork. He smiled at his own scheming, watching the garment flutter in the soft summer breeze. It could’ve belonged to any of his sisters, however, clearly stitched somewhat unevenly on the bum facing outside were the letters, P I M.

By this time, his remaining sisters and cousin had followed Pimpernel outside--Merry was obviously wanting to locate the youngest Took so they could begin their work. Pippin hunkered down as much as he could, though not completely out of their sight. He could see Pervinca use a handkerchief to wipe her brow.

“I didn’t realize that the kitchen can get so hot in the summer, Pearl!” he heard the younger helper exclaim.

Pippin heard Pearl reply, “Now you’ll appreciate Dahlia a bit more, won’t you?”

“Yes!” Pervinca was turning her head this way and that as she continued to wipe the perspiration from her nose and brow. Then she spied an odd sight in the hayloft. “Pearl! Look--up there!”

Pippin heard gasps and then suppressed snorts of laughter--those had to be Merry and Pervinca. Pearl shot a stern look to the hobbit-teens, silencing their snickers. “Who would…?” Pearl mumbled, then saw him stand up in the loft. “Pippin!”

Always willing to take credit for his cleverness, Pippin had stood up inside the loft, brushing off the dust that dropped onto his clothes and into his hair while hanging up his revenge. Pimpernel had turned to see what the ado was about, then shrieked when she saw the stitching.

“You wicked little troll!” she yelled. “Come down here this instant! And bring--those--with you!”

Pippin laughed, teasing his sister from the loft, “Come up here and get them yourself!”

Pimpernel would do that--and more! She stormed inside the barn then climbed quickly up the ladder, making her way over to the loft door where her annoying little brother was. He was the only thing that stood between her and the clean, white pair of bloomers hanging in the morning sun. She reached over Pippin’s head and snagged the knickers, letting the little tacks fly everywhere. Pippin dodged the tacks, then was thrown off balance when she accidentally bumped her arm against him. As he fell backwards, he flailed his arms to catch hold of something.

Poor Pimpernel didn‘t realize what was going on until her little brother was just out of her grasp. “No--Pippin!!” Everything happened so fast. She dropped everything; a tight knot formed in the pit of her stomach as she scrambled back down the ladder.

When Pippin awoke, a cool cloth lay on his forehead. He could feel the softness of his mattress and pillows underneath him. Pippin knew then that he was lying in his room. He opened his eyes but found he couldn’t focus on anything. Everything was a blur. He rubbed his eyes, then felt a bandage around his wrist as he lifted it. It ached a bit, but surely felt swollen. He sighed, blinking his eyelids to try to clear his eyes. He closed his eyes then opened them again. No, everything was still blurry. He tried to sit up, but his head felt like a 50-pound weight, and he fell back onto his pillow.

“Lie down, son.” The voice filled with concern belonged to his Father.

Pippin looked in the direction of the voice, but only saw a greyish blob. He felt the cloth being removed from his head and then a fresh one put in back in its place.

“What happened, Papa?”

“You had a bad fall.”

“A fall?” Pippin dug into his thoughts, “I don‘t remember falling anywhere.“

“You fell from the loft.”

Seeming a bit confused, Pippin answered, “But I don‘t remember.”

Pippin felt the gentle hand of his father on his forehead. “Shhh! Hush now; rest for a bit while I speak to your mother.”

Now Pippin heard the other voices in the room. Right away he recognised his mother’s voice, but it took another minute for him to identify the other one as the voice of Mrs. Longbottom, the village healer. He couldn’t figure out why Mrs. Longbottom would be in his room. Am I sick? He didn’t feel sick. In fact, he felt well enough to get up and have breakfast--he was getting quite hungry.

“How does your head feel, son?”

He pondered before answering; sore wrist, a huge headache, Mrs. Longbottom… Pippin replied, “It hurts a little, but I’m all right, Papa. I’m hungry. I didn’t miss breakfast, did I?”

Paladin looked anxiously at his wife then replied, “Breakfast? No, son, you ate breakfast, elevenses, and finished luncheon an hour ago. It’s almost three o‘clock.”

“I thought it was morning. It’s so bright outside,” he said, turning his face away from the brilliant afternoon sun shining through he window. Why were his eyes acting so strange today? Moreover, if the healer--Mrs. Longbottom--was here, his best bet to ward off the concoctions he so detested was to eat something. “But I am hungry again--may I have something to eat?”

Eglantine looked at her husband with a hopeful grin. It seemed through head colds or injury, Pippin‘s appetite never wavered. “Very well, sweetie, I’ll bring you a little something,” she said, then left to prepare her son a tray.

When Eglantine returned with a tray laden with bread, jam, fruit, and cheese, Pippin made good on his word--and then some. Yet throughout his meal, her earlier glimmer of hope began to fade. She had to tell him what food was on his plate. “It feels like grapes,” he said, plucking a sweet morsel from the vine then sniffed it, “but it doesn’t smell like a grape.” He then popped it into his mouth, adding, “It sure tastes like a grape, though.”

She sat on the bed with her son helping him spread the jam onto his warm bread. She took Pippin’s hand, placing the bread in it. “Here you go, Pip.”

Pippin’s eyes were tired from trying to squint. He merely took the bread, sniffed it and then smiled, “Mmm! It has cinnamon and raisins in it, doesn’t it Momma?” He laughed, “I can smell the cinnamon!”

Eglantine watched sadly as her young son calmly munched his bread; she wanted to cry. This morning he was strong and hale--now he had a bump on his head--and a bit of a memory loss. Pippin remembered who and where he was and knew all the members of his family, however, his memory surrounding the fall was gone. Mrs. Longbottom said to expect it, though it may return in a few days, as should his vision, though nothing was guaranteed.

Eglantine sighed, “Pippin, do you remember what happened today at all?”

Pippin chewed the last bite of bread, rummaging through his thoughts. “Well,” he began, “I believe I was…” though he couldn’t recall exactly what he was doing; his mind was a complete blank after completing his chores. He took a deep breath then tried again. “I went to bed last evening…woke up this morning,” Even his thoughts just before his “fall” seemed to have a blurriness about them. He licked the sticky jam from his fingers. “I know! Pearl gave me half of her apple pie and I almost forgot to say thank you before I--”

“That was yesterday at supper, love.” Eglantine sadly took her son’s hands and wiped them with a damp cloth as if he were a small child once more. She then wiped his jellied mouth. She hadn’t done this in years. “Pippin lad, you cannot get out of bed today. I will send in Pervinca and Merry keep you company, all right?”

“Yes, Momma.” Pippin finally realised that something dreadful had happened--that it happened to him. Perhaps his mother was right; after a nice nap, everything would be back to normal.

After his second lunch, Pippin did take his nap. A few hours later, he woke up feeling a little out of sorts. He still had a bit of a headache while his eyes still had a hazy fog in them--almost like smoke. Perhaps all of this is one enormous bad dream.

“Pip?” It was Merry’s voice.

Pippin rolled over to “face” the voice, “I thought you would be out working in the fields with my father.”

“I’ve been here at the smial since luncheon,” Merry replied. He looked at his young friend, “You ought to know that I would never leave you while you’re lying abed ill. Besides, we were to repair that broken fence in the back lot. Don‘t you remember?”

“I‘m afraid I‘m not remembering much of anything today, Merry. Everyone keeps telling me that I had a nasty fall.”

“You don’t remember that?”

Pippin sighed, “I don’t think so. While I was asleep, I had a dream of pinching a pair of knickers…but I don’t know why. Then nothing…not even a little memory until I woke up just now.”

“The knickers!” Merry exclaimed, “You were up in the loft with a pair hanging from the rafters--it had Pim’s name sewn on them. Does that help?”

Pippin frowned in thought, “No. What would I want with a pair of a lass’s bloomers?”

“I don’t know, Pip,” Merry replied, then leaned in conspiratorially. “You’re not turning into a lass are you?” He laughed when Pippin tried whacking him with his pillow, though for the most part he missed.

The events of Pim chastising him at the Oak Leaf Inn surfaced in Pippin’s thoughts. “Merry, I think the knickers may have had something to do with yesterday…but could I be that much of a stinker? I mean, hanging up her--” then he covered his mouth to suppress his snicker but failed. “I was a naughty lad!”

“Well, you were pretty livid when she got hold of you outside--and then took your pipe.” With that, Merry reached inside his waistcoat pocket, returning to Pippin the treasured pipe that Frodo had given to him at a birthday a few years ago.

Pippin “looked” over his pipe with his hands, “Looking back over yesterday, I guess I deserved it. I’ve got some cheek filling my pipe with the older lads while waiting for my sister.” He grinned absently, “I’ve only used it twice. My father would punish my backside well if he caught me smoking a pipe.”

“He did catch me last summer!” Merry smirked at the memory. “It was when we were at the Mid-summer Fair. He asked someone for a pail and then took me behind a tent. He placed the pail upside down over my head and told me to smoke to my heart’s content--and so I did. The pail filled with smoke, and I got nauseated.”

Pippin laughed, “Did you learn your lesson?”

“Absolutely!” answered Merry. “Never smoke my pipe when Uncle Paladin is nearby!”

Presently, they heard a knock on the door while it was opening. “Pippin?”

“Hullo, Pervinca,” said Pippin upon hearing his sister‘s voice. “Momma said that you’d be keeping me company along with this scoundrel.”

Pervinca took the chair from her brother’s desk to sit on near the bed. “I would have been here earlier, but I was with Pim.”

“What’s wrong with her?” asked Pippin.

“She very upset right now, Pip. She feels terrible about what happened.”

A perplexed Pippin strained to see his sister, “Why? I only bumped my head.”

“She accidentally pushed you.”

Pippin looked at his blurry cousin, “She pushed me?”

Merry quickly answered, “It was an accident, Pip.”

No one spoke for a few minutes until Pervinca broke the silence. “Pim has shut herself up inside her room, saying it was all her fault.”

Pippin, still looking at nothing replied, “But it was I who…” He laid aside the lap quilt that covered him, “Do you think she’ll talk to me?”

“I think so,’ his sister replied, “however, mother said for you to stay in bed--but I think she‘ll allow you a moment to talk to Pim.”

Pippin held onto Pervinca’s arm as she led him down the hallway to Pimpernel’s room. All three children stopped in front of the door while Pervinca knocked. No answer. She knocked again, “Pim?” Pervinca entered first to ensure her sister was ready to receive lad visitors then motioned for her cousin to lead Pippin the rest of the way inside.

Merry looked around the room; the ruffled sheets, lace curtains, while rag-dolls sat about and around a hobbit-child’s chair. He recognized a couple of them from when his cousin was a wee girl. Definitely a lass’s room! He noticed it smelled pretty in here, too--like roses and lavender. Probably the fragrance of the dried flowers she kept in a glass bowl on her bureau.

Merry saw his older cousin curled up on top of her bed, “Pim?”

“Go away, please,” she sniffed.

“We brought someone with us,” said Pervinca, trying to coax her sister.

Pim wiped the tears away from her eyes, “Who did you bring?”

Merry was sad at seeing his cousin so wretched. Merry carefully guided Pippin around to the front of him.

Many times Pippin and his sisters bantered and played pranks on each other, but deep down, he loved them all. “Why are you crying, Pim?” Pippin asked. “Nothing could be that bad.” He could hear his sister start to weep again. He took baby steps toward the sound. Finding the bed, he sat down next to Pimpernel.

Pim took her little brother in her arms, sobbing, “I’m sorry Pippin.”

Pippin knew that it didn’t take a wizard to figure out that the Knickers Incident probably started with him. He most likely wouldn’t be in this mess if he wasn’t so mischievous. He wrapped his arms around Pimpernel, returning her embrace, “I’m sorry, too.”

Chapter 3 - Mischief’s Afoot

The following morning, Pippin woke up--then his heart sank. Although it wasn’t as bad as the day before, Pippin still had some trouble making out the details of objects and the distances in between. How long will this go on?, he thought. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. Laying aside his blankets, he carefully stood up, holding onto furniture as he walked towards his bureau. One such effort brought a sharp pain to his sore wrist, giving a small yelp.

“Good morning, Pip.”

Pippin nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to where he heard his cousin’s voice. “Merry! You ought to say something before you scare someone like that!”

Merry acted offended, “I just did! I said good morning--and you never answered, you ungrateful hobbit.” He walked up to Pippin, took his arm, then led him to the washbasin. Merry filled the basin with water from the pitcher, then guided his cousin’s hands into the basin. When Pippin had finished washing, Merry gave him a towel to dry off with and then helped him go through the rest of his morning routine.

The final touch was when Merry tried to comb through Pippin’s thick curls. “Ouch!!” yelled Pippin.

Merry scolded the lad, “Hold still! If you took a comb to your hair every now and then you wouldn’t have this problem. You look like a beggar-child. You ought to take pride in how you look, Pippin. Some lass has probably turned her nose up at you already, looking all scruffy the way you do.” Suddenly, the wheels in Merry’s conniving head began turning. Beggar child…scruffy…

Beggar-child?! “Merry--!”  An angry Pippin abruptly turned to take his cousin to task, but suddenly he was inexplicably touched by Merry’s act of kindness. In a softer voice, he said, “Thank you.”

Merry came out of his thoughts, slowly he smiled. “You’re welcome. Now turn around so I can finish untangling your hair.”

“Merry?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m eleven years old--I don’t care what a lass thinks about my hair--at least not yet.” Pippin felt Merry tousling and mussing his hair up. Putting his hand to his head Pippin felt the wild curls all strewn about as they were before. “Have you finally gone mad, cousin? What are you doing? You know my mother won’t let me eat breakfast unless I look presentable.” Pippin spit in his good hand, hastily smoothing out his hair as his tummy started to grumble.

“Don’t, Pippin--at least not yet,” Merry pulled the lad’s hand down. “Now…let me see…” The elder cousin walked around Pippin, as if sizing him up. “Do you still have those breeches Auntie said you grew out of when I first got here last week?”

“You have gone mad,” said Pippin, following Merry’s voice from one side to the other.

“Have you or not?”

“Yes, they’re in my wardrobe. They were my favourite pair.”

“Do you have any other worn clothes--or better yet, work clothes that are worn through?”

“What are you getting at, Merry?”

“I have a plan for our amusement today.” If devil horns existed in Middle-earth, Merry would be wearing a pair about now. He asked, “Would you like to take a ride with me, Pip?”

The key word for Pippin was amusement…his grin was full of mischief as well, “I have the feeling this is going to be...shall I say, the ride of my life?”

Merry patted his young cousin on the shoulders, “Now you have it!”

The Dwarves stood in a small group, watching as the young hobbit-child sang his little heart out. His threadbare clothes were tattered and ripped at the hems, his hair unkempt. His sweet innocent face looked like it desperately needed a washcloth. The young boy stood in the middle of the road, singing a song so beautiful and melodious; his voice so pleasant. Dwarves rarely stopped for pleasantries while travelling, but the sight of the poor hobbit-child and his older sibling--also wearing tattered garments--charmed their heartstrings.

Pippin easily kept his gaze straight ahead and ignored any sudden movements that would normally catch his eyes. His eyesight still quite blurry from the day before. His older “brother” stood over to the side playing the simple notes of a song on a small flute. When the song was finished, the young boy smiled, taking a bow. Pippin may have been living in a blurry fog, but he certainly wasn’t in darkness. Dramatically, he felt his way over to the wagon where Merry stood and waited. Surely, these prosperous dwarves would offer at least a day’s wages for that performance!

The Dwarves huddled and grumbled for a few minutes then finally produced between all ten of them, two small coins. The lead Dwarf tossed the coins into the upside down hat lying in the road, and then followed the rest of his companions heading westward towards the Blue Mountains.

Merry waited until they were out of earshot then kicked the dirt at his feet. He eyed the Dwarves as they shrank into the distance, “Do you believe that? Only two pennies!”

“My throat is getting dry, Merry.” Pippin stuck out his chin and rubbed his throat. The “star hobbit” gave the hint for his assistant to fetch a mug of cider for him.

“Oh--sorry.” Merry hopped into the back of the wagon, pulling aside the blanket that covered a barrel of cider. As he was filling the mug for Pippin, Merry noticed that the cider…wasn’t cider. He must have grabbed the wrong barrel from inside the dimly lit barn. “Uh…Pippin,” said Merry. “We don’t have any cider.”

“Yes, we do, Merry--stop dawdling and bring me my mug!”

Just to prove his point, Merry filled Pippin’s mug with the heady substance they did have--quite by accident, taking it to his young cousin. “This isn’t cider, I tell you.” He placed the mug handle in Pippin’s good hand.

Unable to make out exactly what he was seeing--or smelling, Pippin took a sip. His jaw dropped, “What happened? You were supposed to bring a barrel of cider!”

“I had to move a couple barrels of beer to get to the cider,” Merry explained. “Try moving one and you’ll know what I’m talking about. I was tired--I thought I grabbed the right one.”

“But I’m so thirsty, Merry. What are we going to do? It’ll take us another hour to get back to Whitwell.”

Merry sighed, “Drink it, I suppose. What else can we do? We’ll just have to make certain you don’t over do it.”

A half-hour later, Pippin emptied his mug, “Ah--my tongue and throat are ready once again!”

“It should!” Merry sat on the back of the wagon draining his own mug. “You drank that mug like a fish in the Brandywine. Now get back to work, you little slacker.”

Pippin asked, “How much have we got?”

“Including the two pennies the Dwarves gave us, we have a bushel of apples, a box of biscuits, and three quarts of strawberries that the Bree-Man gave us. Not too bad.” Merry was quite pleased with himself.

“Merry?”

“What?”

“I’m hungry!” Pippin smirked.

Merry went rummaging around in the back of the wagon, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to help ourselves to a few goodies. After all, we did earn them!” They both laughed.

Before long, they heard faint jingling far down the road. “What is it, Merry?” Pippin asked. He wouldn’t be able to “see” whatever it would be until it was nearly on top of him.

Merry shaded his eyes as he squinted west into the lowering sun, “It looks like a wagon--no, it’s a pony with a cart.”

Pippin could hear the pony’s bridle jingling as the traveller drew near. Always quick to turn a shilling, Pippin started to sing one of old Bilbo’s songs that Frodo had taught him. He suddenly started feel funny--a bit light-headed. He hung onto Merry, trying to control his balance. But then, he thought, being a little off balance might be good for business! Pippin walked unsteadily out into the road and began another sad, mournful song. He recalled Merry’s words from before breakfast that morning; beggar-child, did he say? Pippin dropped to his knees, holding out his hands in a pleading manner, ensuring the bandaged wrist stuck out a little further. This ought to be worth another bushel of apples!

As soon as the single pony came into his view, Merry tried to warn his cousin. “Pippin!” He whispered as loud as his voice would carry without drawing attention to himself, “Pippin--stop!”

Pippin continued putting his whole heart into his song. Ever the thespian, Pippin dramatically stood up, waving his arms in front of himself as he walked forward.

Merry stepped out into the road, tugging at his cousin’s sleeve, “Pippin! Stop!!”

Pippin hesitated only a moment in his song, “Hush, Merry! I’m singing! Go play your pipe!”

Merry just stood there, red faced and embarrassed at their being discovered by the last person he wanted to see.

Gandalf sat in his cart, laden with rockets for Bilbo’s party later in the summer. He casually smoked his long-stemmed pipe and watched the two little hobbits with much interest. He smiled, seeming to nod with approval when Pippin ended his song and took a bow--and almost toppled forward.

Pippin felt his head getting lighter by the minute. He gathered his balance and held his hand out with the saddest, most grief-stricken face he could muster.

Merry rolled his eyes, “You ninny--it’s Gandalf!”

The name of Gandalf still did not immediately register with Pippin. He whispered to his cousin, “Well, what did he give us?” Then it dawned on Pippin to whom Merry was referring. He put his hand to his mouth, “You mean--the Gandalf?”

“The one and only, Master Peregrin,” the Wizard confirmed.

“Hullo, Mr. Gandalf”, Pippin said. The beer made his thinking a bit muddled, though still it was quick. He offered an explanation, “My dear cousin and I…saw you travelling from afar, and…and…thought to welcome you with a song or two--do you wish to hear another?” Merry nervously nodded in agreement.

Gandalf had met Meriadoc on occasion while staying with Frodo at Bag End, deeming the lad quiet and thoughtful. However, the smaller one, Peregrin Took, he had only seen as a very young child or a babe. Being a frequent visitor of the Smials since he met Gerontius over a hundred years before, Gandalf was quite familiar with the lad’s father, Paladin--another mischief-maker from days gone by. He fixed his gaze on the hobbits, “So, you young truants wanted to greet an old Wizard with a song, eh?” Gandalf stepped down from his cart then looked at Pippin, “And no--I want no more songs this afternoon, lads. I am on business to Bag End, thank you.” He narrowed his eyes in thought, taking in the entire scene before him. Then he noticed the wagon, and a blanket conveniently covering something in the front. Then he noticed their clothes. He walked up to them, taking Pippin’s arm and touching the hanging hem of his breeches, “What happened here, Peregrin?”

Pippin answered, “I…we…I mean…” For once in his short life, Pippin found himself at a loss for words.

“Um…,” Merry started to answer, though he had no response forthcoming.

Gandalf asked, “Why don’t I help you lads back home, hmm?”

“No!” Both boys yelled in unison.

Feigning surprise, the wizard inquired, “Why not?”

“Because...,” Merry began, then paused as he desperately tried to think of an alibi.

Pippin took advantage of his cousin’s blank expression and blurted out, “Because we must finish taking food to...to the helpless!” Gandalf’s gaze kept returning the small lad; there was something odd about his behaviour.

“Yes,” Merry piped in excitedly, “Pippin and I were going to deliver everything that’s inside the wagon to poor unfortunate hobbits!” Oh, the tales we weave!

Gandalf noticed several apple cores a few feet away, then uncovered the cask. “You are delivering apple cores and beer to helpless hobbits? No doubt the beer is a necessity.” Perhaps the answer to Peregrin’s odd behaviour lay with the barrel of ale.

The two young con artists looked at each other for answers. None were handy at the moment. Merry thought to offer yet another excuse, but thought why bother? The game was up; they were in deep trouble either way. “It’s time to go back, Pip,” he finally said.

“I should say so,” said Gandalf. “Young hobbit lads ought not to be out in the middle of the road fleecing unsuspecting travellers such as myself.” Then he added with amusement, “I will follow behind you--just in case an unfortunate hobbit happens by and you need assistance in delivering your beer.” Gandalf chuckled--he was thoroughly enjoying this.

Merry took Pippin by the hand, leading him over to the wagon to help him into the seat. He then walked around to the driver’s seat and hauled himself up, snapping the reins.

“It’s just as well, Merry, I’m not feeling too good right now.” Pippin leaned forward and held his head in his hands.

Merry answered, “It’s from all beer and apples you ate.” The wagon, followed by Gandalf’s cart slowly made its way toward Whitwell.

Chapter 4 - The Long night

“You two are in trouble!” yelled Pervinca as she walked alongside the wagon coming up the lane, with her cousin driving it. “Mother and Father have been looking all afternoon for you two--where have you been?” She saw their tattered clothes. “What in the Shire have you lads been up to?”

When the Wizard’s cart came to a halt behind it, Pervinca curtsied. “Good evening, Mister Gandalf,” she said ever so sweetly to the well-known wizard. Gandalf only nodded his greeting, though the fiery young girl amused him. Then Pervinca turned away, continuing to admonish her brother, “Father didn’t give you permission to leave the smial, Pippin. He told you to stay in the yard, didn’t he?”

Ignoring his sister, Pippin started to climb out of the wagon seat. His head was really starting to throb, feeling light-headed and shaky.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“He heard you, Pervinca!” Merry called to her as he stepped around to the backside of the wagon. “If he were six miles away he still could’ve heard you.”

Pervinca saw the cask. “I wouldn’t be so flippant, Merry. When father sees you and Pippin took one of his beer barrels, he will have a fit.”

“We didn’t take it on purpose,” said Merry, now on the offensive.

“Merry--help!”

Merry looked over to the passenger side of the wagon where Pippin was hanging onto the side, legs flailing in effort to gain hold somewhere. Merry ran to his cousin and helped him down. “What happened, Pip?”

“I think I slipped...or the wagon was spinning,” said Pippin, rubbing his sore wrist.

“We’d better get you inside,” Merry said, guiding Pippin by the hand. Hoping Gandalf would remain quiet about this; though he knew he still had to appease Pervinca. He turned to the wizard sitting in his cart, “Thank you, Gandalf.”

“Come here, lad,” Gandalf motioned for Merry to come closer. He noticed something was amiss with the little Took since he saw them in the road. At first he supposed it to be the result of drinking beer, but now thought otherwise. “What is the matter with Peregrin?” Merry explained to Gandalf about Pippin’s fall from the loft the day before.

Gandalf stepped from his cart, meeting the lads half way. He crouched down to get a better look at the hobbit-child as best as he could, however he found that he still had to bend lower; Pippin barely reached two-feet eight-inches. “How does your arm feel, lad?” Gandalf took Pippin’s arm, unwrapping the bandages that supported his wrist. No bruising, but it was still swollen.

“My wrist,” answered Pippin, “and it’s still sore.” He then added proudly, “I broke my other wrist at Frodo’s thirtieth birthday party.”

Gandalf smiled, “You certainly did, didn’t you.” He re-wrapped the hand and injured wrist then tilted the boy’s head back towards the light to get a better look into his eyes. “You have a nasty bump on the back of your head.” He gently pressed the lump.

Pippin yelped at the tenderness. “I have a headache and my tummy isn’t feeling well. I want to take a nap, Mr. Gandalf.

“As you should have been doing instead of playing truant in the road,” replied the wizard. He looked to Pervinca, “Where are your parents?”

“Out looking for Pippin and Merry, sir,” answered the girl. “Pearl went with them, but Pimpernel is inside the smial.”

Pippin’s eyesight would most likely recover fully in a day or two, but the wizard had a soft spot in his heart for little Tooks. Gandalf swept Pippin up into his arms, “Good, I will tend to your brother out here.” The older children followed the wizard as he sat Pippin in the back of his cart. “Not a word,” he cautioned them.

“Are you going to cast a spell on him?” asked Merry. During his visits at Bag End, Frodo had told Merry many variations of how the wizard could enchant a misbehaving child--to keep him in order. Those stories were enough to keep a naughty young Merry in line…sometimes.

“I should think not!” Gandalf gave Merry an odd look, wondering where the young teen would get such an idea.

Merry and Pervinca quietly watched as Gandalf touched Pippin’s forehead, murmuring something under his breath. The observing cousins half expected fireworks to suddenly fly off the cart, or perhaps even for Pippin to rise up and glide around the courtyard. But nothing happened. Did Gandalf truly possess magic?

“Now off to bed you go, lads!” Gandalf brought Pippin down off the cart, placing the boy’s hand inside his cousin’s. He looked directly at Merry, “You, lad, have a long night ahead of you. Farewell!” Gandalf got back into his cart, turning it around and headed back down the lane.

Merry stood silently watching him disappear down the lane. That was it? No magical healing for his younger cousin? He noticed nothing different about Pippin.

To avoid an angry Pimpernel, Merry and Pervinca helped Pippin inside the back door of the smial, leading him straight to his bedroom. Next, he helped Pippin into his nightshirt and then into bed. The injured and inebriated young Took laid his weary head upon his pillow, instantly falling asleep.

Pervinca folded her arms, sitting next to her cousin on Pippins bed. “So where have you two been all afternoon?” she whispered.

“Out.” It was the only answer Merry would give.

“Out where, Merry? If you don’t tell me, then I shall tell father, and then you will be in a lot of trouble!”

“We both know you’ll tell anyway.”

Pervinca looked injured, “What makes you say that? I don’t always tell about everything.”

Merry knew his younger cousin was like putty in his hands. She was soft clay ready for molding. He answered, “Yes, you do.”

“Do not.”

Then he folded his arms as well. “All right, if I tell you--and should anyone else find out, I shall call you a snitch for the rest of your life.”

Pervinca’s eyes got wide as she thought about what might be a scandalous secret, against reporting all she knew of her brother and cousin’s audacious behavior to her parents. This would be a test of her resolve! “All right, Merry, tell me--and I won’t give it away.”

“Promise! That’s the deal! Take it, or leave it!” Merry grinned, toying with Pervinca’s appetite for gossip, “and it’s a juicy tale!”

“All right, I promise!” Pervinca was dying to know.

Merry went into his and Pippin’s…little excursion. Of course, he had to make it sound interesting, so he did exaggerate just a bit. Pervinca made a shocked face more than once, and laughed when he told of Pippin trying to swindle Gandalf.

“Now you promised to never to tell a soul,” Merry cautioned her.

“I did,” Pervinca replied, still laughing, “and for your reward, I might even help you keep father from finding out about his stolen barrel.”

“Good.” Merry thought that perhaps Pervinca wasn’t a bad companion after all. Then he remembered the wagon and all it‘s contents was still in the yard. “Let’s go hide the evidence.”

After he and Pervinca stealthily hid the boxes of biscuits, apples, money, and the beer, Merry wearily got into his own nightshirt, turned down the bed linen, then collapsed onto the soft mattress. Like Pippin, he instantly fell asleep.

In his dreams, Merry saw himself walking not on the green grasses of the Shire, but on the cold flagstone streets of a foreign city. It looked made up completely of rock and stone. All about in the fields below lay charred bones and corpses. In an instant, he was inside his own dream-body. The world now looked hazy and grey; smoke drifting all around him. He was blind with tears while a darkness and despair swept over him, threatening to devour him. Merry’s heart pounded inside his chest until he saw Pippin’s face before him. Merry tried desperately to hold onto his dearest friend.

Then Merry awoke with a start. His room was dark; lit only by the light of the moonlight outside that shone through the window. The act of using Pippin’s blindness in a prank didn’t seem so funny now. When his trembling began to subside, he found that he could not--or would not--fall back to sleep. It would be a long night indeed.

Chapter 5 - Confessions

The next morning, Pervinca busied herself with wiping up the kitchen table after breakfast. She picked up the last mug, slowly wiping where it once sat with the wash cloth in her hand.  For a long minute she did this then took it to the tub where Pimpernel was washing the dishes.

“Pervinca,” Pim called to her sister. “You look lost--are you all right?”

Pervinca stopped in her tracks. No!, she thought to herself, She’s trying to test me! Pervincaturned to face her sister, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Pim.” Pervinca wrinkled her brow in concern. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“You just seem a bit out of sorts,” Pimpernel remarked, going back to washing the dishes.

Pervinca swiftly turned about, hands on her hips, “I am not!” Pimpernel stood gazing at her younger sister. Pervinca thought better of her outburst, “I mean,” she casually wiped down the salt and pepper shakers, “I’m just fine.” I’ve got to learn to behave nonchalant when I’m holding juicy gossip!

* *

Merry lay quietly with his head buried under his pillow, shutting out all the sunlight and noise. He had missed breakfast, telling his auntie that he wasn’t feeling very well. It was mostly the truth; all night he lay awake unable to sleep. He lay tightly wrapped in his blanket from the many tosses and turns he did in his attempt to find sleep. His dream had been quite unnerving, yet he had fallen back to sleep after worse night terrors. Why not this time? Because you’re being a wicked boy again!, said a still, small voice deep inside him. Then he remembered the hidden “treasures” he and Pervinca concealed within the bales of hay in the barn the night before. “I am being a wicked boy,” he confessed to no one in the room. Presently, he heard a knock on his bedroom door.

“Merry?”

“Good morning, Uncle,” said Merry, turning over to face Paladin, rubbing his tired eyes.

“Your auntie told me that you weren’t feeling well. May I come in?”

Nodding his answer, Merry then sat up against his headboard. “It’s just that I wasn’t able to sleep.”

“Why is that?” Paladin asked, though he had a feeling it was over the scolding he gave his nephew upon his return home the night before. Finding his boys safe and in bed, he felt he should at least let Merry know how much worry he and Pippin caused them.

“I had an ugly dream, is all. I’ve slept after others but not this one, and I don’t understand why.”

“That is true,” Paladin replied, then combed back a few of Merry’s curls then felt his forehead. “No fever. What was your dream about?” Merry went into account of his unsettling dream; of feeling lost, alone, and surrounded by evil. “Well, Merry, perhaps your guilty conscience is getting to you.”

Much of yesterday reappeared in Merry’s mind. Luring his young cousin into playing truant in the road with him, coercing Pervinca to keep silent--even towards her parents. He saw before him the face of the one person who loved him as his own son. The one person, aside from his own mum, who guided and loved him all his young life. He couldn’t look into his uncle’s face after not being entirely truthful with him yesterday. He looked off to the side, tears glistening in his eyes.

Paladin brought the boy into his arms, holding him. “Shhhh, Merry--what is wrong? And tell me the truth this time. I met up with Gandalf on the road--while we were all out looking for you boys.”

“What did he say?”

“First, you tell me what you think he said,” answered Paladin.

“It was all my idea--Pippin had nothing to do with it,” Merry began.

Pippin? Nothing to do with it? Paladin knew his own flesh and blood better than that. “Let me be the judge of that, son.”

* *

Pervinca sat at the now clean kitchen table, sniffling and wringing her handkerchief in her hands. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Pervinca, I can’t make that kind of a promise, and you shouldn’t have either,” Pimpernel sat next to her sister, listening for the past hour as Pervinca poured out her guilt-ridden heart.

“I know that now,” said the young teen drying her eyes, “but I promised Merry and now look! He’s right; I am a snitch.”

“You are not being a snitch if those you love are in trouble--or are the cause of it.”

“Do we have to tell father?” Pimpernel gave her sister an admonishing glance. Pervinca sighed, “Can we at least wait until after dinner tonight?”

* *

Two hobbit-teens silently sat in Paladin’s study looking mournful as possible in hopes that the grown-up would have pity on them. Paladin grinned inwardly; they reminded him of his own childhood with his sister Esmeralda. Outwardly, though, he kept a stern eye on two of the three as they sat in silence while waiting for the third guilty party.

Pippin was whistling a very happy tune as he waked inside his father’s study. When he woke up this morning, his vision was back. Still a bit fuzzy around the edges, but at breakfast, he could even see the butter in it’s dish. He didn’t need to be led by the hand around the house. He could see again! Pippin was elated; he never gave a second thought to his eyes before his purported fall. He would never again take his eyesight for granted. He missed Merry at breakfast and was on his way to look in on his cousin when Pearl informed him that their father wanted to speak with him in his study.

“Hullo, Pippin,” Paladin turned in his chair, “glad you could join us.” Pippin immediately knew something was up. He could see his sister and cousin sitting on the couch. Quietly he sat between the older children, rubbing his eyes just in case it brought sympathy from his father.

Paladin wasn’t fazed by Pippin’s gesture; he taught his son every trick in the book. “It seems you children were misbehaving yesterday…in the road, I was told.”

The older two said nothing while Pippin decided to play advocate. “We were only singing, father.” Merry dug his elbow into his cousin’s ribs in effort to silence him.

Paladin sighed, “It’s not the singing I am talking about, lad. Its how you were dressed--what you did to make others believe that you were poor and destitute. You said this morning, Pippin, that you could see. Then open your eyes and look in retrospect at how you would react to another boy wearing tattered clothing--literally singing for his supper.” Looking at the rueful faces, Paladin saw his words taking hold. “All three of you are children of privilege, lacking nothing in material possessions. I may not give in to your every whim, but you have good clean clothes, food to eat, and a roof over your heads. Some of your most basic belongings are necessities for them. I am ashamed of your behaviour yesterday.”

“I’m sorry, Uncle,” Merry spoke softly. After viewing the world through his father’s eyes, Pippin also apologized. Pervinca, the least guilty of the three, sat in tears, wiping her eyes.

“It’s not me you need to be apologizing to,” Paladin replied.

Merry, Pervinca, and Pippin rode in the back of the wagon while Paladin drove it. No one spoke. Presently, the wagon stopped in front of a single little hole. The door was not ornately decorated like the main entrances at Great Smials or Brandy Hall--nor like the one at the little farm smial that they lived, but it was well kept. There was a little garden beside the porch that in all probability barely fed the occupants. Off to the side, tied to a tree was a female goat; most likely where they got their milk and cheese from. This was the hobbit-hole of a not so fortunate hobbit-family by the name of Longhole. They weren’t suffering at all, but they could always use a helping hand. Mrs. Longhole died while giving birth to her tenth child a few years ago. The elder children raised the youngest ones, and the ones able to find work did so. Mr. Longhole was getting up in years, so he was limited in the sort of work he could do to make ends meet.

Pervinca was the first to hop out of the wagon and reached for the baskets of apples and boxes of biscuits. Pippin and Merry rolled the keg with the remaining beer to the edge. Paladin got down to assist the boys in taking the keg out of the wagon, but left them to their task as soon as it was on the ground.

Pervinca waited by the door until her partners-in-crime caught up with her. When they were just shy of the door, she knocked.

The small door creaked open to reveal a slight young boy of about nine years old. “Mr. Pippin! What are you doing here?” Merry immediately recognized the child--he had purchased an apple from him the other day in front of the inn.

“Hi, Teddy” Pippin knew this young hobbit from the market. Teddy worked as a labourer for another farmer to sell the produce. Pippin now understood what his father was trying to teach them. Teddy worked at the market while he himself studied his letters and books. A privileged life… He looked around, “Is your papa home?”

The little boy nodded then disappeared beyond the open door. Merry could see inside where it looked like seven or eight children gawked at the well-dressed young visitors. These children’s clothes were tattered in a very real way; no mum to sew their clothes, wash their face, or brush their hair. Merry was mortified of his antics the day before. He and Pippin looked at each other, knowing this was the right thing to do.

Finally, an older hobbit appeared in the doorway. “Good evening, sir”, Merry started, then introduced his cousins. Pervinca curtsied as her mother taught her to do. “My cousins and I....petitioned...on behalf of those who might benefit from such...and these were the fruits of our labours.” Merry tried to speak as well as he could, leaving the real matter of things in the past.

Pippin thought the old hobbit was going to cry. “Bless ye childr’n” the old hobbit said, “I wish there were more like ye.” Pippin bit his lip; he, too, realized his behaviour the day before was appalling.

Pervinca handed one of the Longhole boys the baskets while Merry and Pippin rolled the barrel inside the humble hole. Before leaving, Merry handed Mr. Longhole the silver and copper coins he took from his targets the day before. The old hobbit smiled, “Thank ye.”

On the way back to Whitwell, Pippin sat up front in the wagon with his papa. The group was just as silent on the way back to Whitwell as they were on the way to Mr. Longhole’s modest hole. They each contemplated on their blessings. “Papa, why are some hobbits in need?”

Paladin was delighted his plan went as he imagined it would. He puffed out a bit of smoke from his pipe as he steered the ponies with the reins. “Sometimes, Pippin, fortune just doesn’t seem to be equal.”

“But why, papa? Did Mr. Longhole do something that we didn’t, or did we do something that Mr. Longhole didn’t?” The child was trying to understand a world that sometimes had no mercy on the misfortunes of folk. Why were some hobbits well off, while others struggled? Didn’t Mr. Longhole have the same opportunities as his father did? If not, why? So many questions were swirling around in his young head.

Paladin frowned. “Pip, I don’t have all the answers. I wonder at the same questions myself at times, but I haven‘t come up with anything that makes sense.” He looked at his young son. “How’s your wrist today?”

“Better,” said Pippin, flexing his fingers, hand, and wrist.

At that moment, the wagon turned up the familiar lane. “Papa, I feel...I don’t know--embarrassed, for what I did yesterday. I promise I won’t ever play the fool like that again.”

Paladin brought the wagon to a stop in front of the barn. “Yes you will.” Paladin chuckled, tousling his son’s unruly curls, then grew serious. “You’re a young boy, and still have a long way to go in growing up. Today was one lesson--there are still more waiting for you.” He climbed out of the wagon, handing the reins over to Merry to stable the ponies. “We also learn from our diligent parents who give us numerous chores to keep us from idleness.” He laughed, “Come along now--there is much to be done before supper!”

THE END