“I know that young lads like to collect things. I had expected leaves or rocks or even bugs, but not this.” Eglantine sighed. “An entire row of jars lined up on his bookshelf. The smell is so bad you cannot go near them.”

“I have tried talking to Pippin but he refuses to believe me,” Paladin said, shaking his head. “I do not know how to get through to him.”

Esmeralda glanced down the table at Frodo, who was busying himself by contemplating the contents of his teacup.

“How strange,” she remarked casually. “I had the same trouble with Merry.”

A look of relief washed over Eglantine’s face. “Merry, too? Honestly, I think those two share a brain sometimes. But Merry could not have put this idea into Pippin’s head – this is the first time they have seen each other in months, and Pippin began this…collection only a few weeks ago.”

“Well, impressionable young lads pick up strange ideas in all sorts of places,” Esmeralda replied, looking at Frodo again.  “I know that nothing Saradoc or I said convinced Merry. It was finally Frodo who made him listen to good sense.”

Every set of eyes shifted down the table to where Frodo was turning an interesting shade of red.

“Well that settles it,” Paladin said, grinning easily at Frodo. “Will you speak to Pippin and clear up this nonsense?”

Now scarlet, Frodo stood quickly. “Yes, yes,” he murmured. “I’ll find him right now.”

Esmeralda made certain to catch Frodo’s eye and smile sweetly as he walked past her.

*          *          *

“I do so like grapes,” Pippin said, his voice muffled as he stuffed three more into his mouth. “They’re very sweet.”

Frodo stretched lazily in the sun. “Have you ever tried to grow them?”

“Grow them?” Pippin echoed doubtfully. “Could we do that?”

“Of course, silly,” Frodo said ruffling Pippin’s hair. “You didn’t think they just fell from the sky, did you?”

“No,” Pippin giggled. “But how do we grow them?”

“Well,” Frodo said nonchalantly, snapping another grape from its stem, “not many hobbits know how.”

“But you must know, Frodo,” Pippin said with certainty. “You know everything.”

Frodo smiled and handed the grape to Pippin, who accepted it eagerly. “I’ll only tell you if you promise to keep it a secret.”

“I won’t tell anyone!” Pippin exclaimed. He sobered then, and bit his lip, suddenly uncertain. “But…does Merry know? I wouldn’t want to keep a secret from him.”

“Oh, Merry knows,” Frodo said, nodding. “I taught him years ago, when I still lived at the Hall.”

Pippin’s eyes grew wide. “You have to tell me, Frodo!” Pippin cried, tugging on his cousin’s sleeve. “I don’t want you and Merry to know something I don’t.”

With a laugh, Frodo stood and pulled Pippin to his feet. “Come along, then – we have work to do.”

Once inside the kitchen at Bag End, Frodo sat Pippin at the table as he scurried around the room in search of the necessary materials.

“Now listen closely,” Frodo began, finally sitting across from his cousin. “First, you must fill a jar halfway with water.”

Pippin nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Then you take a potato – leave the skin on – and put four skewers into it. Here, Pippin, you may do the last two, but be careful. They are very sharp.”

Slowly, Pippin drove the remaining wooden skewers into the potato. “Like this, Frodo?”

“Very good,” Frodo said with a reassuring smile. “Then you put the potato into the jar, and the skewers will hold it up so only the bottom half is underwater.”

“Now what?” Pippin asked, wriggling with excitement.

“Now we wait!” Frodo said, sitting back in his chair.

“You mean that’s it?” Pippin asked in disbelief. He leaned close to the jar, his nose grazing the cool glass as he inspected it closely.

“Yes,” Frodo replied. “What did you expect?”

“I thought we would add seeds or something.” Pippin’s eyes clouded over with worry and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Frodo, does this mean that grapes grow in my belly when I eat potatoes?”

“Not unless your belly is a jar,” Frodo said with smile. “Put it on the shelf beneath the window, Pippin, and then wash your hands; they’re all sticky. Don’t worry, you won’t miss anything – it’s likely you will not see any grapes until tomorrow morning, at least.”

Frodo was right, of course, and when Pippin stumbled bleary-eyed into the kitchen for breakfast the next morning, he noticed that the potato had indeed sprouted six plump grapes.

“It worked!” Pippin cried in delight, hugging the jar to his chest. “Can we eat these grapes and grow some more?”

“Of course,” Frodo laughed. “Take those from the potato, and I’ll change the water and put the jar by the window again.”

The window was open, and Sam stood on the other side, shaking his head in clear disapproval as he watched Pippin neatly arrange the grapes on a plate.

“Please be careful, Mr. Frodo,” Sam warned later, once Pippin was out of earshot. “That little lad’ll believe anything you tell him.”

“Oh, Sam,” Frodo said, laughing again. “I’m just having a bit of fun with Pippin. There is nothing to worry about.”

For the next two weeks, the cousins found a new batch of grapes every morning. On Pippin’s last morning at Bag End, he discovered the largest crop ever: a long stem had grown right over the edge of the jar and hung past the shelf.

A few hours later, as Pippin sat beside his father on the wagon seat, he nudged his pack with his toe and smiled as he felt the rounded edge of a jar through the leather. He certainly had something special to show his sisters when he returned home.

*          *          *

Frodo found Pippin playing with the other children. Merry was there, too, and both cousins ran to him as soon as he poked his head through the door.

“Frodo! Frodo!” Merry cried. “We looked for you before. Where were you?”

“I was at a rather dull tea,” Frodo replied. He glanced at the smaller hobbit clinging to his arm. “Hullo there, Pip.”

Pippin smiled up at him. “I need you to help me with something,” he said, before grabbing Frodo’s and Merry’s hands and leading them to his room.

Just below the window was a low bookshelf. There was not a book in sight – the bottom shelf contained a few rocks, a bit of rope, and an old, chipped mug filled with feathers. On the top shelf were eight jars in a neat row and in each jar sat a potato.

“My grapes aren’t growing,” Pippin said, frowning. “I did everything you said, Frodo, and I even tried using different potatoes and different jars, too. Nothing works.” He moved closer to the shelf, and scrunched up his nose. “Some of them are a little smelly.”

“I can’t believe you–” Merry began, looking from Pippin to Frodo. Shaking his head, Merry flopped onto Pippin’s bed, and propped himself up on an elbow. “Well, Frodo, you are the expert. What should Pippin do?”

Frodo looked at Pippin – Pippin, who trusted him so completely and waited for his guidance. He thought of Merry, years before, sitting on the floor of the Brandy Hall kitchen and clutching a jar tightly in his tiny hands as he tried to convince his mother that yes, grapes do grow from potatoes, because Frodo had said so.

With a sigh, Frodo said, “It was all a joke, Pippin. Grapes don’t really grow from potatoes at all – they grow outside, in the wild or in vineyards. I’m sorry.”

Confused, Pippin glanced at the jars. “But…we grew them at Bag End. Don’t you remember, Frodo?”

“No, we didn’t,” Frodo replied gently. “Before you woke up each morning, I would put a few grapes in the water.” He shook his head and sighed again. “I should have listened to Sam.”

“You should have listened to my mother,” Merry said, rolling off the bed and landing at Pippin’s side. “Look, Pip, he pulled the same trick on me years ago, before you were even born.”

“He did?” Pippin narrowed his eyes at Frodo. “He said he taught you how to grow grapes the same way.”

“Well, if that’s what he wants to call it,” Merry replied, rolling his eyes.

Pippin folded his arms across his chest. “I thought that I was the only one who didn’t know how!”

“I’m sorry I lied to you both,” Frodo said. “I thought I was being funny, and it was wrong and stupid of me, and I should have known better.” He sighed a little and looked over at the shelf. “I’ll help clean out those jars. It’s the least I can do.”

The corners of Merry’s mouth turned up suddenly, and he reached for one of the more decayed potatoes. “Yes, these potatoes must be thrown away. Some of them have gone soft, haven’t they, Pip?”

“Yes,” Pippin replied, still watching Frodo, whose eyes widened nervously.

“I think it was very good of Frodo to offer to help clean up,” Merry continued. He took a few steps toward Frodo, and smiled when recognition dawned on Pippin’s face.

“It was very nice of Frodo,” Pippin replied as he reached for a potato of his own. “I think I should let him help, Merry.” He grinned suddenly, and moved closer to Frodo.

By now Frodo had backed away nearly to the door, and had his hands held up in a gesture of surrender as he pleaded for his cousins’ mercy. “Pippin…Merry…”

Less than ten minutes later, a disgruntled and potato-covered Frodo returned to his place at the table. Without meeting the eyes of the other hobbits he reached for his cup and took a gulp of undoubtedly stone-cold tea.

Eglantine wrinkled her nose, and several of the hobbits covered their faces with their hands; Frodo had brought in a horrible stench.

“I suppose you spoke to Pippin,” Paladin began hesitantly.

“Yes,” Frodo replied brusquely. He glanced at Esmeralda, who turned away, red-faced and shaking with suppressed laughter. “The potatoes have been cleared from Pippin’s room. I assure you that there will be no more attempts to grow grapes in the future.”