Moon Over Tookland

Aunt Amber is 88, Aunt Heather 85, Paladin 79, Reginard 43, Fatty and Everard 32, Merry 30, Ferdibrand 29, Pervinca and Estella 27, Pippin 22 (about 56, 54, 51, 28, 20, 19, 18, 17, and 14 in Man years)

Harvest 1412 SR
 

The Aunts were the most feared matrons of the Great Smials, indeed, of all of Tookland. They were stern with everyone, demanding perfect manners in even the most casual of settings. Any lad or lass caught swimming in naught but their skin on a hot summer day could expect to receive a lecture to last them until Yule. Greater offenses brought even worse punishments. Once, Cedric Briarmoore had dared to talk back to the them and accused them of being stuffy. They had made him chomp on a pony bit slathered in castor oil for an hour. It was said that he couldn’t talk for a month afterward, though many suspected this was grossly exaggerated. Even so, The Aunts were a force to be feared by all children, and many an adult, and no one in their right mind would dare to assault them.

Unfortunately, Pippin, Everard and Ferdibrand were not in their right minds, and that was largely due to Fatty Bolger. Fatty would later accuse his actions as being influenced by the full moon and a long day’s work reaping the fields, which tired him exhaustibly and hampered his ability to think clearly. Others would point out that he had no trouble thinking up a way to steal the bottle of bourbon from the Thain’s table, thus denouncing his argument and pinpointing him as the main conspirator, even though he was absent for the event itself and in no way a party to it.

It started innocently enough, and not by Fatty, he would emphasize when the time for his defense came. It had started with Pervinca and Estella, a fact to which all the lads agreed wholeheartedly, yet none of them were surprised when the lasses avoided reprimand altogether. They were lasses after all, and needed only to bat their eyes at their fathers to get away with nothing worse than a tap on the wrist. As unfair as it was, that was just the way of things.

Fatty, Ferdi, Everard, Aidan Chubb and Cedric were all sitting together at a table that Harvest Moon night, sipping mugs of ale and enjoying the cool breeze on their faces as they recuperated from a hard day’s work reaping the fields, and they were being perfectly well-behaved. Since Cedric was the oldest, and the only one who was of age, they were copying him by leaning against the table, their legs stretched out and crossed in front of them, propping themselves on their elbows and sipping their ales at regular intervals as they watched the revelers dancing or strolling about the newly reaped fields. They would have been content to continue in this vein for another hour, or four or five, but it was not to be so. A pair of comely lasses walked past and caught Cedric’s eye and he left the younger lads to their own amusement before any of them could even blink.

“Well, what do we do now?” Aidan asked, peering into his mug which was traitorously empty.

“I don’t know,” Ferdi said. “Find a lass to dance with?”

“My feet hurt,” Fatty complained. He was none too eager about leaving his comfortable perch after toiling all day in the fields, especially not if it involved more moving about, unless that was to move closer towards the alecasks.

“Good point,” Everard agreed. “No need to rush off and do anything strenuous.”

Laughter greeted them from behind at this and they craned their necks back to find Estella and Pervinca listening to their conversation.

“What a lousy, lazy bunch you are,” Vinca said, shaking her head distastefully at them all.

(Everard would later hypothesize that Vinca had waited until Cedric was gone to approach the table, and that she probably even told those comely lasses to walk past to lure Cedric away, for she would never have come to the table otherwise. However, having no evidence to support his claim, this theory was immediately ruled out as hearsay.)

Vinca shook her head sadly at them and continued, “No stamina whatsoever. How do you ever hope to woo a lass by sitting on your bum?”

“Why would we want to go wooing anyone?” Everard asked and rightly so. That was the last thing on any of their minds. The only thing that sounded appealing to them right now, other than finding someone to fetch them another ale, was to sneak off to their beds and enjoy a good, long sleep.

“Well, I assume that one day you’ll all want to marry and so wooing will be in order then, but unfortunately, when that day comes, all that the lasses will be able to think about is that after a long day’s work, the most they could expect from any of you is a drunken burp. Not very appealing, to say the least,” Vinca said.

“Why are you here?” Aidan asked with irritation.

“Mother wanted me to find you and see if you needed anything,” Estella said to Fatty.

“We could all use more ale,” Ferdi said, holding up his mug hopefully. The lasses didn’t budge an inch.

“I’m not a bar wench,” Vinca said.

“No, you’re just a shrewish wench,” Everard muttered, to which the other lads snickered.

“What was that?” Vinca demanded sharply, and the lads quickly stifled their laughter. She and Estella circled around the table to face them, and Vinca put her hands to her hips so she could glare down at the lads, Everard in particular, more effectively. “Do you have something you want to say to me?”

Everard wisely kept quiet and diverted eye contact. All hobbits are taught from an early age that should they ever find themselves confronted with a wild, savaging beast, to keep as still as possible and to avoid eye contact. Looking such a beast in the eyes was considered a challenge and that was the last thing you wanted to happen. He kept his eyes on his toes and shook his head. “No,” he said meekly.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Look, Ella,” Fatty said. “If Mother wanted you to see what we wanted, and what we want is ale, can’t you just get it for us? Please?”

Ella’s face melted with sympathy and she stepped forward to retrieve their mugs, but Vinca put a hand out to stall her.

“Come on, Per! Get off yourself and just get us something to drink,” Everard said, forgetting his lessons about wild, savaging beasts and throwing caution to the wind. (Ferdibrand would later point to this piece of evidence as the one that got them all in way over their heads, to which Everard couldn’t exactly protest. In retrospect, he realized he should have kept his big mouth shut.) “We’ve worked hard all day and what have you done?”

“Other than cook all day to make sure you lads had enough food to sustain you throughout the harvest, while I barely had time to sit for a full meal myself?” Vinca said, feigning thoughtfulness. “No, you’re right. I didn’t do anything worthy at all. Please, let me get your beer to rid me of these feelings of horrid guilt.”

“How about,” Ferdi said, jumping into the banter before a real argument could begin (as he also fervently mentioned later), “I get the ales and you lasses sit and take your ease for a while. I’ll get ales for you as well. You deserve a rest every bit as we do.”

“Thank you Ferdi,” Estella said and sat next to her brother before Vinca could protest. Everard grinned innocently at her and she spared the time to roll her eyes before sitting next to Ella at the end of the bench.

They sat in silence, watching the dancers and merry-makers, until Ferdi returned with a tray of mugs, all of them foaming enticingly. Aidan licked his lips and grabbed one up, drinking long from it. He let out a satisfied sigh when he was finished and sloshed the remaining ale with a dreamy expression on his face. The others drank more slowly, taking the time to really enjoy the feel of the cool frothy brew sliding down their throats to sit happily in their stomachs. And then Vinca spoke again.

“This is sad,” she said.

“What is?” Aidan asked and received a smack on the back of the head from Everard.

“Never ask!” he hissed but it was too late. (Aidan would be brought into questioning for his comment here, but it would later be concluded that his part in the unfolding events was trivial.)

“This,” Vinca said. “You lads. You’re in the prime of your life, and here you are just sitting and drinking. Even the old gaffers can at least stand up to drink. Are you all impaired in some way?”

“We’re not impaired,” Ferdi said. “Didn’t I just get the ales?”

“We’re resting, Per,” Everard said, agitation coming to the fore. “Last time I checked, that wasn’t against the rules.”

“No, but you should hear what the other lasses are saying about you,” Vinca said. “They’re not very impressed by your lack of physical prowess.”

“Look, we were all up early,” Everard began.

“Yes, and you went down early too,” Vinca said sweetly. It was her turn to smile innocently now but they all understood what she meant. In case any of them were in doubt, she continued. “It’s the saying among lasses, you know, or perhaps you don’t, but I’ll tell you because it’s important that do you know. We lasses can all tell how hard a lad is able to work by how long he can keep it up. Working, I mean, of course. We’re now thinking that none of you can keep it up for very long.”

(Perhaps the most devastating blow to their case was when this entire conversation was thrown out as insubstantial evidence. Any protests they made that they had not, in fact, misunderstood or read more into what Vinca actually said, fell entirely on deaf ears, even in light of Estella’s reaction.)

Ella gawked at her friend, her face flushing with embarrassment. “Vinca!”

“What?” Vinca asked, as though she didn’t understand what she had said, when she knew exactly what she had implicated. “It’s true enough. Look at the field. All those lads, dancing away, showing their lasses a good time. I bet they could go all night. And here you sit.”

“We’re going to get up to dance in a little bit,” Everard lied.

Vinca snorted at this. “Oh please. Your bums are glued to this bench and you know it.”

“Well, mine’s not,” Aidan said. He drained his ale and stood up. “See you lads later.” He trotted off, though not as briskly as he would have on a normal night, and left the others to their torment.

“Well, there might be hope for him at least,” Vinca mused.

“Fine,” Everard said, giving up his hopes for a quiet night doing nothing. “Do you want to dance then? I’ll dance with you if that’s what you want, though you certainly could have gone about asking in a less insulting manner.”

“I don’t want to dance with you,” Vinca said, her face scrunching up in distaste.

“I would just like to point out that neither of you lasses are out there dancing,” Fatty said. “What does that say about your stamina?”

“We may not be dancing, but we are doing something,” Vinca said. “We’re annoying you, which is very invigorating indeed.” She stood up with an energetic hop and held her hand out to Estella. “Come on, love. Let’s show these lads what’s to.”

Ella stood and, with a backward glance of apology, followed Vinca to the dancing field. The lads sighed with relief and went back to sipping their ales. “You don’t think that’s true what she said?” Ferdi asked. “About what lasses are thinking? Lasses don’t think like that, do they?”

“Of course it’s not true. It’s Pervinca,” Everard pointed out. He drained his mug and watched the lasses from his perch. “She’s just like that,” he said by way of explanation. “She’ll say anything. We have plenty of stamina for lads our age. If we’re more tired than the others are, it’s just because we worked harder.”

Fatty nodded sagely at this. “That’s right,” he agreed.

“We’re not impaired or lacking in prowess,” Everard continued. He glanced down the table at the lasses’ mugs. “Are those finished?” Fatty shook his head and handed one over. Everard sipped at it, considering the situation gravely. “We’re perfectly fit and any lass with any common sense would know that,” he went on.

“That’s a good point,” Ferdi said. “We could get up right now and dance the night away. If we wanted.”

“Of course we could.”

“Absolutely,” Fatty agreed.

They watched the dancers for a moment, sighed and returned to their mugs.

“But we don’t want to,” Everard said. “And what’s so wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Ferdi said.

“That’s right.” Everard took another sip and muttered, “Don’t tell me I can’t keep it up.”

“Hullo lads!” a cheerful, energetic voice greeted them, again from behind. This time, they didn’t even bother to crane their necks, but they did reach back for the mugs they heard being slid across the table towards them.

“Hey Merry,” they muttered.

“What are you all doing?” Pippin asked, watching in vain hope as the older lads sipped their mugs. He wouldn’t be old enough to start drinking for another three years. The newcomers plopped themselves down and made themselves comfortable, and Merry drained his ale in two gulps.

“Have you just been sitting here all night?” Merry asked, wiping the foam off his mouth with a shirtsleeve. “I was just telling Pippin I hadn’t seen any of you. I thought maybe you turned in early, but here you are. Are you hiding? Are you plotting something?”

“No,” Everard said irritably. “We’re just sitting. Can’t we just sit?”

“Just sitting?” Pippin said, tilting his head at them. “Why?”

Everard mumbled something indecipherable into his drink. Fatty decided to change the subject from them to the younger lads. “What have you two been up to?” he asked.

“Well, we put water in the empty wine bottles and set them back out on the table,” Pippin began to tick off everything they had plotted so far that evening. “We put a slug inside Nell’s fiddle case. She hasn’t found it yet. We switched a couple of the candles in the lanterns with firecrackers.” (This little confession earned Merry and Pippin both a day of candle-making.)

“I told you that was them,” said Ferdi of the firecrackers.

“Next, we’re going to get one of the fiddles and detune it,” Merry said. “We thought Nell’s, but since we already pranked her, we’re thinking we’ll wait until Sapphire takes a break.”

“You’ve been busy,” Everard intoned. “That shows a lot of prowess on your part. Any lasses ask you to dance yet?”

“Oh plenty,” Merry said. “I’m saving about ten dances so far. I’d actually better start paying some out, since we have to wait until the band takes a break anyway. You coming Pip?”

“I think I’ll sit this one out. I only own dances to three lasses,” he said, not bothering to mention that one lass was his mother. When Merry was gone, he addressed the other lads. “So, what are you plotting? You can tell me now that Merry is gone. I won’t tell him your secrets.”

“We’re not plotting anything,” Everard repeated. “We’re just resting.”

“From what?”

“From working,” Fatty said.

“Doing what?”

“The harvest,” Ferdi answered.

“But that was hours ago. You’re still resting from that?” Pippin asked incredulously. “Are you the ones the lasses were talking about then?”

“What lasses?” Ferdi asked, sitting up at long last. He turned to face Pippin, and closed his eyes against the world spinning uncontrollably before him. When the dizziness subsided, he opened his eyes again to study Pippin to see if the lad was joking. “What were they saying?”

Pippin shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, just something about how sad it is when young lads have no stamina.”

“We have stamina!” Everard exclaimed, throwing up his hands. He turned around next and positively glared at Pippin. “Did Vinca put you up to this?”

“No,” Pippin said uncertainly. “Up to what?”

“What lasses?” Ferdi repeated.

“All of them,” Pippin said, looking between each lad and watching as their faces went through a series of emotions, from startled to dread to annoyance and finally gloom. They looked down at their mugs to find them empty yet again.

“That’s it,” Everard said and belched loudly. He clapped a hand over his mouth and gulped the next one down. He tightened his grip on his mug. “We have to do something. … These ales aren’t helping.”

“I know what will help,” Fatty said and stood so suddenly, the table shook. “I’ll be right back.”

He stalked away, the others staring after him blankly. “Where’s he going?” Ferdi asked.

“I don’t know,” Everard said, then returned to the matter at hand. “What are we going to do? We have stamina. We can’t have lasses thinking that we can’t keep it up.”

“Keep what up? What’s it?” Pippin asked. Why did it always happen that he never understood

what anyone was talking about? (He would later thank the stars that he didn’t understand anything, for that was perhaps the only reason he received a lighter punishment than the others.)

“What can we do to prove ourselves? To prove that we’re capable of anything?” Everard asked, ignoring Pippin. He stared blankly into his empty mug. Had he really had four ales already? The mug and table swam before his eyes. No, these ales really weren’t helping matters any.

“We need to do something – hiccup! – drastic,” Ferdi said, in no better condition than his friend. The drinks were beginning to catch up with them. He wiped his finger at the froth that was trailing down the side of the mug and licked his finger, smacking his lips at the taste. “Do something… no one else would do.”

“Well, I can help you with that,” Pippin volunteered. “Can I have some ale?”

“Sure,” Everard said and reached down the table to grab Vinca’s half-drained mug. He slid it over to Pippin. (It was a testament to how truly soused both lads were that they didn’t recall that Pippin was still too young to drink and had never had more than a few sips snuck to him from Merry or Frodo, so they were not as severely punished for this as they would have been had they been sober. Pippin, however, was not able to talk his way around taking advantage of his cousins’ fuzzy-headedness.)

Pippin gulped happily at his ale, thinking the problem over. He wasn’t sure why exactly his cousins were set on pranking someone, or why they felt they needed to prove themselves, or what any of this had to do with ‘it’. All he knew was that they were looking for a prank, and that was good enough for him. Something drastic that no one else would do. Well, there were plenty of things that Merry would do, so it would have to be something really creative that not even he would dare to attempt. But what?

“Young lad!” came the shrill, penetrating shout of Aunt Amber. The lads winced and ducked their heads, hoping she wasn’t addressing any of them. With luck, she stormed past their table and snatched another lad about Pippin’s age who was making so bold as to get ale directly from the keg. “What do you think you’re doing?!” She pulled the lad away by the arm, laying into him with such a lecture that even the adults were wincing. After all, most of them had likewise been lectured by one or both of The Aunts when they were younger, and they knew all too well what the lad was in for.

Something drastic… That no one else…

“Here we are,” Fatty said triumphantly, returning to the table with three more mugs.

“I said no more ale,” Everard reminded but took the mug all the same. He handed another to Ferdi and they both took a drink at the same time. A burning sensation exploded in the backs of their throats and it was everything they could do to drink it down and not cough. Pippin laughed at the comical faces they made in order to achieve this feat of wills and finished his own mug.

“What was that?” Ferdi asked.

“Something to wake us up a bit,” Fatty said with a wink. “Bourbon. I added it myself.”

“Where did you get bourbon?”

“The Thain’s table,” Fatty answered.

“How did you manage that?” Everard asked.

“I just walked up to the table and asked for it,” Fatty responded. (Under cross-examination, he admitted to telling the Thain that he wanted it for his father.)

“You don’t say?” Everard asked, taking a smaller, more cautious sip. In smaller doses, the drink went down smooth, warming his gullet and spreading a invigorating fire through his belly. “It’s not bad,” he said.

“Can I have some?” Pippin asked hopefully. To his continued astonishment, Fatty gave up his ale and slid the mug over to him (a crime for which Fatty had no better defense than he was soused himself).

“Drink it slow,” Ferdi advised. He too had discovered that smaller sips was the way to go with this brew.

“So, what are we doing again?” Fatty asked, having forgotten why he had retrieved the bourbon and mixed the drinks in the first place. Something about prowess.

“Sumting dwastic,” Ferdi said, his words beginning to slur. “This good,” he said to his ale.

Pippin nodded, enjoying the woozy feeling that was beginning to set into his limbs. “I like it,” he declared.

“Fatty!” Ella called then, running up. “Mother wants you.”

“Right now?” Fatty asked. “We’re doing some… some… wha… what are we doing?”

“Are you drunk?” Ella asked, hands on her hips. She shook her head and helped Fatty to his feet. “Come on, brother. We’re getting you inside.”

“But… we’re upping the keep it,” Fatty protested.

“What?” Ella asked. “You need to lie down. Come along.” She pulled him away by the hand, passing Aunt Heather on the way.

Aunt Heather shook her head distastefully and called after them, “You should watch your intake more closely, lad! Drunkenness is not becoming of any hobbit!” She went back to sit with her sister, Amber, at the main table. Aunt Amber was still lecturing the lad she had caught earlier, talking his ear off by all appearances, and now Aunt Heather joined in.

“Poor lad,” Ferdi said. “Sumun shood wely ‘elp ‘im out.”

Everard began to nod, when suddenly his eyes lit up as the most brilliant, daring, amazingly drastic idea came into his head. He pounded his fist on the table and stood up. “That’s it!” he shouted.

“That’s it?” Pippin asked, thinking of the previous ‘it’ he had asked about and never received an answer to. He looked around, still not seeing anything that would tell him what ‘it’ was.

“We’ll moon!” Everard announced.

“Who?” Ferdi asked, enthralled by the notion. Sure, he had always pronounced that he would never do anything so idiotic as to moon someone at a dance, but now that he really thought on it, he had to admit that it sounded quite appealing. It certainly was drastic, and it was something that no one else would do, at least, not at this dance, not yet anyway. Now they just needed to find a suitable victim. “Vinca?”

“Ew!” Pippin exclaimed, scrunching his nose up in much the same fashion that Vinca had when Everard offered her a dance. “I can’t flash my bum at my sister.”

Everard shook his head emphatically and wagged his finger up and down several times before finally letting out with his plan. “No, no, no, no, no. Not yer siss… yer sisss… sisssster. We moon… The Aunts!” The Aunts were really his cousins, but everyone who lived in the Smials, be they old or young, referred to them as The Aunts.

“Brilliant!” Ferdi said, in complete awe of the plan.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Pippin said. The Aunts actually were his aunts, and he was not so completely gone as to overlook that this plan could result in serious consequences.

“No, no, it good plan,” Everard said, pushing Pippin’s mug closer to him. “Dwink, and we go. It good. You see.”

Pippin finished his ale in one gulp, shaking off the burning sensation as best he could, choking and coughing to clear his throat. “How do we do it?” he croaked, his eyes watering.

“Like this,” Everard said, leaning over and whispering loudly what he had in mind.   
 

“I told you, I was getting it for my father,” the lad insisted, trying in vain to pry the Aunt’s fingers from around his arm.

“Really?” Aunt Heather joined in. “Where is your father then?”

The lad pointed. “Over there.”

“And he’ll vouch for you?”

“Of course he will,” the lad said, now pulling against the Aunt’s grip. Giving up, he turned and waited for the band to pause between songs before shouting across the field, “Father! FATHER!”

His shouting grabbed the attention of everyone in the nearby vicinity, including his father, who looked up and shouted back, “What?!” just as three hunched-over forms, with dirty, soiled work shirts slung over their heads to hide their faces, ran through the field, stopped in front of The Aunts and promptly dropped their breeches. Everyone gasped aloud and The Aunts sat stunned. The lad was finally able to wrench himself free, only to be glued to his spot by this unseemly event taking place before his eyes.

After only a moment, the offenders lifted up their breeches again and took off running but they didn’t get far. One tripped over his own feet and went sprawling on the ground, taking the other two with him. Paladin ran into the field to seize the offenders and yank off the shirts that still hid their faces.

“Peregrin!” he exclaimed in shocked dismay when his son’s face was revealed. He then colored with both fury and embarrassment when he realized Pippin was drunk. He looked up at his sisters and shook his head. “I’m sorry about this.”

Aunt Amber and Aunt Heather could only fume. This was, quite possibly, the first time in their long lives they couldn’t think of anything to say.

Ferdibrand’s and Everard’s parents were equally shocked and shamed to find their sons as part of the ploy. They hauled them up by the ears and dragged them toward the Smials as the onlookers began to recover from their shock and recount the event animatedly to each other. “Take them to the Thain’s study,” Paladin called after them, grabbing his own son by the arm and walking him off the field.

“Was that it?” Pippin asked. “Was that it, Da?”

“Yes, Peregrin, that was it,” Paladin said, having no idea whatsoever of what his son was speaking.  

Thain Ferumbras met the offenders and their parents in his study and somehow managed to get the story out of them. Fatty was located in his guest quarters and brought forth, and Aidan was rounded up from outside. Cedric could not be located anywhere, and neither could either of the comely lasses he had disappeared with, so it was never determined if they had indeed been sent to distract him by Pervinca or not. Pervinca and Estella were called for, both of them claiming to not understand from where the lads had got any of their conclusions.

As the clock approached midnight, the Thain set down his judgment. On the count of indecent exposure to elderly matrons in view of a minor, all the lads were sentenced to a month of servitude to The Aunts. They would also have to formally apologize for their ill behavior at dinner tomorrow night. For serving ale to a lad of non-drinking age, Fatty, Ferdi and Everard were also to spend the next two weeks laboring in the mills, helping to grind the grain and bag it for winter storage. For taking advantage of his cousins’ intoxicated states, Pippin would not be permitted to begin drinking until he turned 26 rather than the usual age of 25.
 

Paladin saw his son to his bed and helped him into his nightclothes. “You better stay here all night, young lad, if you know what’s good for you,” he said sternly.

“Yes, Da,” Pippin slurred into his pillow, which he hugged to himself protectively. “Where’s Merry?”

“Forget about Merry. You’re on restriction. You’ll be lucky if you see Merry again before you come of age,” Paladin said and closed the door behind him.

A moment later, Pippin heard the outer door click shut and sat up. “Da!” he called. “Da!” No answer. Pippin slipped out of bed and staggered to his bedroom door. He opened it and yelled, “DA!” Still no answer. He snuck out of his room and tiptoed noisily across the apartment, bumping into furniture as he went, then slipped outside to the tunnel. He needed to find Merry and tell him he couldn’t see him anymore. He also needed to pee. He slid along the tunnel wall to the Great Door and went back outside, looking around for someplace to relieve himself. If only there were a tree nearby…  

“I finally have it,” Reginard said to his wife Opal as they walked across the hill to the Smials.

“Have what, dear?” Opal asked.

“I finally have something I can pester Everard about for the rest of his life,” Reginard said. “You know, he still goads me about that whole neck romancer thing.”

Opal laughed. “Oh sweetie, you shouldn’t be teasing your brother about something like this. No one else knew about that, whereas everyone is going to be talking about this,” she pointed out. “He could use your support right now.”

“He could use taking down a peg or two,” Reginard said. “Whatever possessed him to do something like this anyway? Does he have a death wish?”

“Hey!” came a call from behind. They stopped in the middle of the field and turned to wait for Merry to catch up with them. “Have you seen Pippin? I just saw Uncle Pally, so I assume the meeting with the Thain is over.”

“No, we haven’t seen him. We’re just going to see what’s become of the truants,” Opal said. “How is it that you weren’t involved in this?”

“I don’t know, but I’m very put out about it,” Merry said. It wasn’t like Pippin to exclude him from pranks after all, and this one topped all pranks ever conducted by any lad or lass in the entire history of Hobbits.

“Count yourself lucky, Merry,” Reginard said. “I’m sure your friends are now wishing they’d never been born. I must say, though, I’ve been looking forward to something like this happening for many a year. Nothing can ruin this night.”

“Oh good,” said a voice just then. They looked down to discover Pippin standing there, staring with glazed eyes at Reginard’s brown breeches. “A tree.”

The end

GF 6/26/06