by Llinos
beta Marigold

22nd September 1371

"Bilbo Baggins – that is far too great a gift for a three year old!" Drogo Baggins frowned at the magnificent gold pocket watch as he turned it over in his hand "Why he'll break it in a moment."

"Nonsense!" Bilbo snorted, "Look at this." He took the watch from Drogo and dangled it by the long gold chain in front of little Frodo. Frodo was busily persuading a carved wooden elf and a wooden dwarf to ride together on his new toy horse. In spite of the fact that the two figures were dressed for battle, three-year-old Frodo had decided they should be friends.

The shiny watch caught his eye and he pointed at it, "Mine? For Frodo?" There was no greed or covetousness in the child's question though; just an awestruck wonder at the beautiful object.

"Well, we'll see, shall we?" Bilbo squatted down in front of the child and reverently placed the precious object in the already cupped hands. Then he guided the watch up to Frodo's pointed ear.

A large smile spread across Frodo's face and his big blue eyes opened wide with delight. He listened for several moments then sang along in time, "ticky tock, ticky tock, ticky tock."

Primula's smile grew until it matched that of her precious son's, although Drogo was still frowning in doubt at the extravagant waste of such a gift.

"Now then Frodo my lad," Bilbo took the timepiece and placed it on the floor so that both of them could look at it. "Do you know what that number is?"

"One!" Frodo announced without hesitation.

"And this?"

"It twos!" Frodo's head jigged up and down in an amusingly quaint caricature of Bilbo's nodding agreement.

"And this one? It's a special number for you today." Bilbo told him with a chuckle.

"It's fwree!" Frodo proudly held up three fingers, "Like me – I'm fwree now!"

"Very good!" Bilbo clapped his hands in encouraging applause. "Now, shall we see what else the ticky-tock can do?"

Frodo watched with fascination as Bilbo closed the case on the half-hunter, pausing as the child ran a tiny finger round the outside of the glass with interest. "Now listen to this!" Bilbo announced grandly as he snapped the case open again.

A tinkling tune began to emanate from the timepiece, "Made by the dwarves, you know." Bilbo whispered in awe, "Awfully clever some of those chaps."

"I still think it's too much," Drogo complained, "what if he just leaves it somewhere and loses it?"

"Perhaps you could give it to him when he's older Bilbo dear," Primula was embarrassed at the possibility of a disagreement between her husband and his, oh so generous, cousin. "You've already been more than kind, I feel as if we've imposed upon your hospitality too long."

"Nonsense!" Bilbo would have none of this. "You know all three of you are more than welcome to stay at Bag End, as often and for as long as you like." He turned with a wink to Drogo, "and I trust I keep as good a table as Old Rory?"

"Indeed you do, cousin, indeed you do!" Drogo softened considerably at the mention of food. "Your vittles are undoubtedly the finest in all the Four Farthings!"

Primula sighed, but said nothing, bending down to pick Frodo up from the floor, still clutching his precious pocketwatch. When she had married Drogo everyone said it was an excellent match. She was the youngest of seven children and, although her father, Old Gorbadoc 'Broadbelt', was the Master of Buckland and Brandy Hall, she stood to inherit little from his estate.

But Drogo, as the eldest son of Fosco Baggins, a fine gentlehobbit, should have been able to support his wife in a comfortable manner and still have plenty to pass on to any children they might have.

The problem was that Fosco Baggins did not have much of a head for business, but truly believed he had. He speculated, many say recklessly and wildly, others said prudently but misguidedly, but whoever was right, sadly, he failed to accumulate.

At the reading of his Last Testament his entire Estate, although willed chiefly to Drogo, with bequests of generous annuities to Dora and Dudo, was mostly eaten up by creditors and demands from disgruntled, unpaid grocers, tailors and, some say, bookmakers from Bree!

But whatever the truth, the house and farm had to be sold and since then, Drogo and Primula had lived by the generosity and hospitality of various relatives, most of these hailing from Primula's Brandybuck heritage, so it was a welcome relief for Drogo to be invited to stay with the odd Baggins. And although Bilbo was certainly one of the oddest of Baggins, he indeed kept a fine table and his invitation was accepted with alacrity!

"I think perhaps you should keep the timepiece for Frodo," Primula tried again, "until he is old enough to tell the time at least."

"Well I see no reason why Drogo should not put it by for him," Bilbo insisted. "That way you can teach him the hours and minutes, under close supervision, of course. I'm sure he'll pick it up quickly enough."

"I'll do that Cousin," Drogo agreed and he gently prised the watch from Frodo's hand, offering him at the same time the wooden elf from the floor. "Here Frodo, son, give that to Daddy. I'll put it somewhere safe and you can look at it when you want to, with Daddy."

Frodo gave up the watch obediently, although his eyes followed it all the way to his father's waistcoat pocket. "Ticky tock later Daddy, when I go bedtimes?"

"Yes son," Drogo agreed. He took the watch out and glanced casually at the time. "Four of the clock already. Perhaps some afternoon tea for you my lad, so you'll be ready for supper before bedtimes. No dawdling, it's Uncle Bilbo's grown up party tonight."

Frodo knew what that meant, grown-up time meant he had to be in bed before the adults sat down for their long, and to him, boring meal and talk. "Yes Daddy, tea, sang-widges?"

"Of course," Bilbo put on a serious face, "special sang-widges and cake of course, special birthday cake for you, as you're three now!"

Frodo scrambled from Primula's arms to retrieve his toys and, seating the dwarf and elf back on the horse, galloped the three off to the kitchen, making all the appropriate clip-clopping and elf and dwarf noises.

Primula and Bilbo followed, whilst Drogo settled into Bilbo's favourite armchair by the fire and lit his pipe.

Frodo was already sitting at the table when the two adults arrived and Bell, who came in to "do" for Bilbo when he had guests, was busily setting out plates of sandwiches, bread and butter and honey and, as a special treat, a large pink blancmange.

Also seated, either side of Frodo, were Bell's two sons. Bilbo had invited six year old Hamson and two year old Halfred to tea in order to keep Frodo company on his birthday. The three were already getting on well since, during visits to Bag End, Frodo followed the older Hamson around doggedly and Halfred tagged along behind.

"You got a nice horse there for your birthday," Hamson admired the well-carved toy. Halfred was already holding the elf and the dwarf and engaging them in a battle to the death.

"And I got a ticky-tock as well!" Frodo announced proudly.

"I've kept the cake back Mr Bilbo," Bell whispered, "I've got some candles, but only one blue and the others pink."

"That's all right," Primula smiled, "I'm sure Frodo won't mind."

"Ma'am." Bell made her bob and hurried to tuck a napkin in Frodo's neck before he could spread more honey on his shirt. "Sorry, Ma'am, I should've done this a' fore the lad started." She bustled off to put the three little candles in the holders so they could be placed on the cake.

Primula and Bilbo sat down to keep the children company, listening with amusement to their banter.

"Where your ticky-tock Fro?" Halfred had finally managed to finish his battle and dwarf and elf both lay mortally wounded under the table.

"My Daddy is keeping it for me, safe!" Frodo explained, "I got to have it when I'm big and bigger!"

"You know Bilbo," Primula decided to broach the subject again, "it really was too extravagant a present for such a little one."

"Not at all!" Bilbo delighted in giving magnificent gifts, especially to his younger cousins, "Besides, since we share a birthday, it is only right I give him something extra special!"

"It's just that…" she fell silent, the thought that was bothering her so much would be very undiplomatic to voice.

"Just what?" Bilbo asked softly, taking her hand in his. "You're afraid that Drogo might send it the way of his own pocketwatch?"

Primula nodded, her eyes cast down at the table, afraid to meet Bilbo's kindly look for fear of the tears starting.

"You think I don't know that?" Bilbo clasped her hand more firmly, trying to compel Primula to look up. "Do you think I would begrudge Drogo pawning that little trinket in order to buy Frodo books or a new jacket if he should need it?" Primula, I think your husband is a fine hobbit and a proud one – he's a Baggins! It can't be easy, living with the sad legacy of his misguided father. I would not have him come cap in hand to me or anyone else, but families must stick together.

Primula finally met his gaze. "So you mean you intended… that is you suspected that he might…" she could still not say the words even though Bilbo had guessed her thoughts.

"Yes, of course," Bilbo's face grew solemn. "As I said, he is a proud hobbit, so let this be our secret. If you have need, if little Frodo ever wants for anything, I want you to promise you will come to me first. I am still a bachelor and I lead a bachelor's life and I like it that way. But I would not see another Baggins, especially little Frodo suffer any indignity. I am not as wealthy as some would have it, but I am not without excellent means. If ever you come to the point of selling that pocketwatch, you tell me first and I will buy something else from you. That pretty hair-ribbon for example." Bilbo chuckled, "that must be worth a bob or two!"

"Oh Bilbo!" Primula managed a smile at last. "It's a trifle and you know it."

"Not at all!" Bilbo touched the ribbon and frowned, "why it must be worth a hundred shillings, if it's a farthing!"

"You've already been too generous to us, letting us stay here when you know we can't even reciprocate."

"No more generous than your Brandybuck cousins!" Bilbo pointed out. "And anything a Brandybuck can do a Baggins can manage."

"I know and you are too kind." Primula looked indulgently at her small son, prattling happily with the Gamgee children, honey smeared from ear to ear. "I love staying with you, but at Brandy Hall Frodo will get good schooling and have many cousins of his own age to play with."

"Indeed," Bilbo agreed, "and at the moment, I think it the best place for the lad. But there may come a time when Frodo needs something of his own. It's true, I may yet marry, although I'm not sure which self-respecting lass would have me now, not with my reputation and eventually I may even need an heir myself. Should that day come, Frodo will be my first thought!"

"Bilbo!" Primula had never entertained thoughts of Frodo inheriting from this distant relative. "You have no idea how much that soothes my worries for his future. Even if you should marry and have children of your own, it is a kind thought – one of the kindest I ever heard."

"Even if I do have heirs of my own," Bilbo added, "which I think is highly unlikely, I have already remembered little Frodo in my Will and that is not going to change, I promise you."

Primula was silent for a moment, her hand still clasped in Bilbo's. Finally she found her voice again, "I had thought you had given him the most wonderful present possible – I mean that beautiful pocketwatch. But your promise is the greatest gift imaginable – not just for the future it offers Frodo, but for the love and kindest that comes with it – thank you, from the depths of my heart, thank you."

"Aha!" Bilbo dropped Primula's hand and stood up to applaud. "Cake! Happy birthday Frodo! Are you going to blow your candles – come on now my big, big lad! One! Two!"

"Fwree!" Frodo blew with all his might and the candles were extinguished.

"Oh yes," Bilbo lifted Frodo up, "This lad will go far, trust me!"

by Marigold & Llinos (we beta-d each other!)

6th April 1383

The Gaffer looked at Sam’s excited face with dismay. Surely there must be some mistake? Mr Bilbo had come round last night after little Sammy had been put to bed and given Bell a gaily-wrapped present for their youngest.

Upon her protestations that he shouldn’t have gone to the trouble Mr Bilbo had answered, “Stuff and nonsense! Of course I should have! It’s not every day that one of my favourite lads becomes a faunt. And he’ll make good use of it, I’m certain.”

But Hamfast couldn’t imagine what use such an item would be to little Sam and neither did Hamson, sharing a confused grimace with his dad. Little Daisy didn’t even seem sure what the present was.

Sam however had no such problem.

“Look Mumma! Look Dad! Is a slate for my ownself!”

He grabbed up the slate pencil and began marking on the flat black surface before Hamfast could stop him, Daisy peering curiously over his shoulder.

“Wait a bit Sam-lad.” Hamfast reached over and gently took the slate pencil from the new faunt. "I think that Mr Bilbo must have brought the wrong parcel by. Likely this is meant for one of his young cousins.”

“Not for mine?” Sam’s cheerful face fell.

“Such things are dear, Sammy,” his mumma said gently, “Mr Bilbo likely mixed up his gifts. He gives so many ‘twould be easy to do.”

Halfred laughed. “And what’d you want with such a useless toy anyway, Sammy? Not like you can have any fun with such a thing.”

“Can!” Sam declared. “Can write letters on it, look!” He proudly displayed the slate with the odd squiggles he had drawn upon it.

Hamfast frowned. He had no wish to scold the lad on such an important birthday but Sam was old enough now to know better than to pretend to be able to do something that he couldn’t.

Bell stepped in, sensing that her husband was about to chide the little one. “If you knew your letters the gift might make sense, but Sam dear, this sort of thing is for gentlehobbits as can write and read some.”

“How’d they learn then Mumma?” he questioned. “They need a slate to learn ‘em on.”

Bell was a bit taken aback by Sam’s logic but Halfred wrinkled his nose. “Just so Sammy. You ain’t learning your letters so 'tis a silly present.”

Sam felt this to be an attack on Mr Bilbo and took exception; he loved Mr Bilbo dearly and thought nothing the kind master did could be silly. He was clever, was Mr Bilbo.

“It not silly Hal! I know 'bout letters. I know three, just like how old I am.” He began to trace the letters he had drawn on the slate. “S…a…m! Sam!”

The reactions to Sam’s display were mixed; May and Daisy were awed that their little brother was so clever as to know three letters, Bell was beaming with pride, Halfred was sure that Sam was just making it up that they were letters, Hamson was taken aback and Hamfast was not pleased at all.

“Where’d you learn such a thing Sam-lad?” he asked disapprovingly.

Sam was oblivious to his father’s displeasure. “I ast Master Frodo last time he come to stay. He made letters in the dirt for me and then I did it same, my ownself, lots and lots till I knowed them.” He traced the letters lovingly.

“Well, that’s fine Sammy,” said Bell, though she knew her husband didn’t think it fine at all. “But this must go back to Mr Bilbo. Else he’ll be giving the present he really meant for you to one of his little cousins and that wouldn’t be right, would it?”

Sam’s lip quivered. “S’pose ‘twouldn’t.”

“Oh, but can’t he keep it?” May was stroking the length of fine ribbon that the parcel had been tied with and Bell had no doubt that the lass was thinking what a fine bow it would make for her hair. She had thought so as well. Cut in half there would be enough for May and Daisy both, and it was such a lovely shade of blue. The cloth wrapping was very fine too; Bell had already been of a mind to use it for a gift of handkerchiefs for Hamson who was going soon to apprentice to his uncle in Tighfield, she had a bit of silk thread to embroider his name. But the wrapping would have to go back with the gift.

“He can’t give it back now anyway,” Daisy pointed out, not wanting her little brother to be disappointed. “He’s already marked on it.”

Little Sam sighed at his sister’s lack of knowledge and took up the small chamois that had come in the package. Carefully he wiped the slate clean and handed both items to his father. Never one to be down for long he grinned. “Least I got to write my name proper one time!”

Two days later Hamfast sat at the old worktable in his shed behind the small storage barn at Bag End. This was his domain. He had finished in the gardens for the day and all of his tools – well, some his own, and some belonging to Mr Bilbo – were in their proper place, hung on hooks in the wall or stored neatly on shelves. He believed in good order, did Hamfast. The gardens at Bag End were a job of work and if a fellow didn’t stay organised things could quickly get out of hand. He was enjoying a well-earned tipple of the Master’s fine cider but he was also still hard at work. Hamfast did not believe in idle hands.

At the moment he was sorting through his seed packets. If there was one thing in the shed that was disorganised it was his seeds and he sighed in frustration.

He knew the seeds themselves by sight of course, except for some of the master’s rare blooms from foreign parts, but he always had a time of it keeping the packets sorted. Like old Holman, and likely Hal Greenhand before him, Hamfast had drawn a crude representation of the end result on each packet but this was done in charcoal and so had a way of getting smudged beyond being legible. So every year Hamfast found himself continually opening packets to check the contents. This was very time consuming and also confusing, as he had to remember which smudged packets were which so that he could take the proper ones with him out to the gardens each day when he was planting.

He took another swig of the strong cider then set his mug to one side. No good making himself tipsy when he had need to concentrate. When Sammy got a bit older he could do this instead. Sam would be taking over from him someday after all; there was no doubt about that. Hamson was a fine worker but he was no gardener and Hamfast barely trusted his eldest to dig a few potatoes for the table. He’d do well apprenticing to his Uncle Andy though.

Halfred loved the gardens but they didn’t love him back; if he spent more than a few minutes among the roses his eyes turned red and he broke out sneezing. May had a real gift with growing things but she was a lass so the talent was wasted. She kept up the kitchen garden at home well enough so that Hamfast could leave her to it but that was all that he would allow. Daisy was still young enough to follow her old dad about and was a dab hand at deadheading and pulling weeds but it would soon be time she stayed more in the smial with her mum, learning to sew and cook.

Sammy now, he had been helping in the gardens since he could toddle about. Hamfast gave him useful jobs to do, like clearing the beds of stones or collecting fallen petals for his mum to sew into little pillows to be sold at the market. Sam loved every minute of it, and Ham could see that his youngest lad had it in him to become as good a gardener as he was someday. Sam was a determined one, and smart as a whip.

This thought reminded Hamfast of his conversation with Mr Bilbo about Sammy’s birthday gift. For the slate had been meant for him. The master had been disappointed to have the gift returned though Hamfast was shrewd enough to tell that it not been unexpected.

“I am sorry if you felt my little gift was inappropriate, but he’s a clever lad Ham. I thought that it would suit him,” Bilbo had sighed taking back the carefully rewrapped parcel.

“He was right pleased with it Sir, and thank you kindly. But he’d nowt be able to make proper use of it.”

Mr Bilbo had appeared to consider something, then said, as if the idea had just come to him, “Perhaps I could teach him his letters. Then he would have a use for this.”

Hamfast had been so startled by the suggestion that his employer would be willing to take on such a task, that for a moment he could make no response. Mr Bilbo had tried to press his advantage.

“I find myself with a great deal of time on my hands, and I enjoy spending time with Sam. I hope that you will consider it.” Mr Bilbo had then struck the finishing blow. "I've a great many books too, I'm sure Sam would enjoy being able to learn from them – he loves stories and, once he can read, I'd be happy for him to borrow a volume or two."

He had looked at Hamfast so hopefully that the gardener couldn’t outright say no, as he had wished to. With a muttered, “I’ll think on’t sir,” Ham had taken himself off actually feeling badly that he had disappointed the master as well as his own son. But it just wasn’t proper, nothing about it was, and what need did Sam have to learn  reading and writing anyway? Letters were for gentlefolk, not the likes of his family. And books! Well, whatever would folk think?

Now that he had had a day or two to think, he realised that Mr Bilbo had hoped all along to get Ham’s permission to teach Sammy to read and write. He must think Sam a sharp lad to want to take time away from his own book studying, though what fascination the master found in those things Hamfast couldn’t fathom. But Sam wouldn’t have time to waste on fairy stories and histories about places that didn’t concern him.

Hamfast opened a packet of seeds that he thought from the sketch contained radishes. They were marigolds. Fiddlesticks! As always this was taking far too long. He’d be late to supper if he didn’t get his next day's work organised soon.

There was a rap on the shed door and Hamfast opened it to find little Sammy standing there with a large piece of bread and cheese in his hand. "Mumma sayed to bring you cheese Dad." Sam thrust the morsel into his father's hand.

Hamfast grunted and bit into the impromptu supper. Bell often would send a piece up to him when his working day ran over, especially now she was so heavy with child and needed to get her rest. He knew she would have also left a hefty bit on a plate for when he got home. Sam, instead of retreating, lingered in the shed, touching the various forks and spades with great reverence. His father gave a grudging smile and turned back to his seed sorting.

"Dad," Sam asked eventually, "why's the fork got bits on it?"

"What?" Hamfast looked at where his son was pointing. "Oh that be a bit o' rust, can't be helped that, gets in over the Winterfilth."

"Goose greaser-ing." Sam stumbled over the half-remembered advice. "Mr Bilbo sayed that."

"What you meaning Sammy?" The Gaffer threw Sam a puzzled frown.

"Mr Bilbo sayed you put goose greaser-ing on the forks and spades to keep them good!" Sam furrowed his brow trying to remember the exact words, then sang the rhyme Bilbo had taught him. "A'fore Halimath fades, goose greaser-ing aides, your forks an' your spades, an' is good for your blades!"

"Now where'd you learn that?" Hamfast thought he knew all the tricks of the trade, but this was a new one on him.

"Mr Bilbo sayed it from a book!" Sam said brightly. "He knows lots of things of books!"

"Oh yes," Hamfast looked sternly at his child, "what else did he teach you out of them there books?"

Sam obediently put his hands behind his back and recited: "Where onions do grow, rosemary you sow, Along wiv some thyme, An' all will be fine!"

"Well that's true enough." The Gaffer was well versed in the protective qualities of various herbs sown along with vegetables. "What else?"

"If in Solmath you prune, your roses will bloom, But plant cabbages an' taters, when you see skaters! Turnips and kale when west winds pre… pre…" Sam stopped abruptly. "I forgetted the words."

"Never mind Sammy." His father could not help but be impressed. After all, the lad was only a faunt and to have acquired that much knowledge – just from a bit o' book learning, and at his age. "You done very well."

Hamfast turned back to his seed sorting once more, deep in thought. Sam loitered in the shed, running his hands through the sacks of compost, turning the flowerpots all the same way up and even sneaking a sip of his father's cider when the Gaffer was looking the other way.

Eventually, Hamfast finished and rose to leave. Sam waited as the shed was carefully secured, then placed his hand in his father's for the walk home.

"No Sammy," Hamfast relinquished the trusting little mitt and turned his son around. "I got a job for you. You're to go up to Mr Bilbo's and knock and be polite, mind. You're to say I had a change o' mind and you can have that slate thing after all!"

"Dad?" Sam was puzzled, his father's word was law and seldom did he relent once a decision was made.

"Now don't you argufy!" Hamfast gave Sam a little push on his backside. "Get along up there and be sure you mind your P's and Q's."

Sam needed no more encouragement and started towards the smial.

The Gaffer called after him, "and you can say, I'm all right with them books and him teaching you." The gardener pulled off his misshapen hat and scratched his head, 'who would've thought they could put such things in books – useful things, not just fanciful stories – but just the sort of things his Sam might actually need to know.'

6th April 1390

"Hurry up Samwise," Daisy scolded. She was busily preparing Sam's birthday feast and everything had to be done proper, even Mr Bilbo and Mr Frodo would be guests and the family had decided they needed to put on a good show.

Little Marigold was setting the places at the table and Hamson had made the trip over from Tighfield especially. A pile of gifts was stacked by the door, all neatly wrapped and labelled, ready to present to the arriving guests.

The Gaffer, his day's work finished early, was presiding over the affair from the comfort of his big armchair, pipe firmly clenched in his teeth and a mug of tea by his side. He watched with satisfaction as his Sam finished off labelling the seed packets, some for sale in the market, some for storage in his own potting shed. "Aye lad, I never thought I'd live to see the day a Gamgee would be writing in his own hand."

"Didn't you Dad?" Sam looked up with a cheeky grin, "but aren't you glad?"

"Well – it's not so bad, all things considered." The Gaffer admitted. "Although I weren't too sure at the time, but Mr Bilbo did give you a right good gift there, and no mistake!"

by Llinos
beta Marigold

11th May 1385

"Um… Saradoc, can I have a word with you?" Bilbo trotted slightly faster along the corridor of Brandy Hall to catch up.

"Is it about Meriadoc?" Saradoc turned with a glare that spoke volumes, "what's he done now?"

"Oh… er nothing important really," Bilbo was taken aback at Saradoc's immediate assumption that the subject was his son and his annoyance that Merry had obviously done something bad. "I'll just have a quiet word with his mother."

"What's he given you?" It was quite apparent that this was not the first grievance Saradoc had dealt with that day, and it was only 9 o'clock. "Don't worry about getting him into trouble, just because he's three today. He's already in enough deep water that he shouldn't need another bath until his next birthday!"

Bilbo blanched, wondering just how many of Brandy Hall's treasures and artefacts, not to mention the occupants' personal possessions, little Merry had already managed to distribute. Bilbo's own bequest had arrived at 5 a.m., so the child had had plenty of time to expand his well-meaning, if slightly misguided, philanthropy to the other hundred or so guests assembled to celebrate his third birthday.

"Unkla Bilbo! Unkla Bilbo! The insistent childish voice was accompanied by a sharp rapping on the door; followed by the door opening and then a sharp rapping on Bilbo's head.

"Good Grief! What time is it?" Bilbo reached for his pocketwatch only to realize it was not yet light enough to even see the hands on the face. Merry had stopped his rapping and waited impatiently while Bilbo fumbled for matches and lit the oil lamp. "Merry?" Bilbo squinted in the new light, "what are you doing up and why are you hitting me on the head with that stick?"

"It's my birfday present just for giving you!" Merry announced proudly, "'cause you like to walk a long and long way and in case your feets get tyr-red!"

The silver-topped walking cane was dropped onto Bilbo's unsuspecting feet and, without waiting for so much as a 'thank you', Merry ran for the door. Bilbo, in fairness for the hour of the day, recovered quickly and hurried after his small relative.

Merry was already far along the corridor, struggling tenaciously with several umbrellas, a golf club and a small engraved sword that Bilbo recognised as usually hanging over the fireplace in the main hall. Around his neck were various necklaces, some glistening gold and mithril and several strings of pearls and on his head was his Grandfather Rory's best silk hat. A potted plant lay abandoned in the middle of the hallway, apparently too much for the little hobbit at the moment but, no doubt, to be reclaimed later on.

Merry had obviously been very busy.

"I do," Saradoc grimaced, "he's got the idea into his head that it's all right to give away the entire contents of Brandy Hall, just because it's his birthday."

Bilbo chuckled, "I presume you've explained it to him by now?"

"Several times," Saradoc was getting undeniably red around his collar, "but his Grandfather seems to think it is amusing and his Mother says I'm making a fuss and to leave the lad alone! I ask you Bilbo, how can I instil any discipline into my spoilt son, when I'm constantly undermined?"

"Hmm, I see," Bilbo was well aware that Rorimac 'Goldfather' Brandybuck was inordinately proud of the fact that his line was now well established, with two sons, an heir and a spare, and now, two fine grandsons, 5 year-old Berilac and especially 3 year-old Meriadoc. The heritage of the Master of Buckland was virtually guaranteed for the next two generations.

It was also hard to ignore that Old Rory, had developed a tendency to gloat over the fact that his son's brother-in-law, Paladin had still only managed three daughters. All hopes of the Thainship staying in the Took family were starting to fade when Eglantine had produced yet another female that year.

True, Isembold had many descendants – but all female and Isembard had long since removed his family to Long Cleeve so it was more likely that, should Ferumbas III remain unmarried, and Paladin become Thain, the line of succession would logically, although unprecedented, continue to the distaff side, with Esmeralda (née Took) Brandybuck's male heirs, next in line.

All of which meant that, as things stood, little Meriadoc Brandybuck could well end up as, not only Master of Buckland, but Thain of the Shire, as well! As a result, Rorimac indulged the lad to the point of ludicrousness.

"But Merry isn't a bad little lad," Bilbo continued. "It was a generous act and he seems to have been most industrious and thoughtful in his gift choices. I'm sure everyone, once they realize the mistake, will give everything back."

"Oh yes!" Saradoc snorted, "Like they did when you were declared dead and ended up having to buy most of your things back – at least you had that dragon's hoard to pay for it!"

"That's true," Bilbo agreed, deciding now was not the time to refute the rumours of his inexhaustible wealth. "But how did he manage to help himself to all those things? Where was his nurse?"

"Ah! That's the other thing." Saradoc growled, "His Grandfather decided that as he has reached the grand old age of three, he can leave the night nursery and has been given his own room! Not just any old room, of course! One of the best, windowed, newly whitewashed, double family rooms – for a 3 year-old – I ask you!"

"Didn't you object?" Bilbo sensed that if he pushed the questioning much further, he could end up in the middle of a Brandybuck family row; but his curiosity was too provoked now for discretion to prevail.

"Of course I did!" Saradoc looked ready to burst, "but my Father just had all the lad's two hundred weight of toys, books and clothes moved in there and, last night, presented it to my son without even telling me! Well, things have gone too far now. If Meriadoc is old enough to have his own room, dispense with his nurse and consider himself Master of Brandy Hall, then the new little Master is also going to discover he is old enough for a spanking!"

Bilbo, after a moment's thought, decided to follow the enraged Saradoc as he stormed off in search of his erring but well-intentioned son. The older hobbit was starting to feel sorry for the lad, caught as he was between an over-indulgent grandfather and a disciplinarian father. It was not really Merry's fault – or his quarrel. This should be between Saradoc and his father, but it looked like little Merry was going to bear the brunt of a festering disagreement between his elders.

"Meriadoc!" The main dining room of Brandy Hall echoed the name ominously as Saradoc finally traced his wayward child.

Merry froze and almost wet himself in terror but, fortunately, his 3 year-old brain gave his bladder a stern talking-to, reminding it that he no longer had a nurse to deal with such accidents and that he was a very big boy now! Grandpapa had said so!

Slightly cross-legged, Merry looked guiltily up at his father, wondering what he had done to incur such wrath. "Didn't do it Daddy, didn't!" Merry had learnt, almost as soon as he could talk, that an early denial often worked wonders, regardless of the crime.

"I can see that you did! Again!" Saradoc snatched a rolled-up shawl from his son and out fell an assortment of battered roses, some pulled up by their roots, others with only their heads remaining, while a hundred detached petals scattered over the floor. "These are your Grandmother's prize roses! Merry you know you're not allowed to pick flowers from your Grandmama's garden!"

"Didn't hurt me much!" Merry explained, "Look!" He held up his hands to reveal three large scratches on one hand and two on the other. A small rivulet of blood ran down his wrist. "didn't even cry – only a little bit!"

"Oh Meriadoc, my sweeting!" Esmeralda hurried into the large, wood-panelled room. The long table was already set for the grand birthday tea in honour of the Heir Apparent (once removed) of Brandy Hall and Heir Presumptive of the Shire, whose Mummy was now enfolding him with protective arms and kissing his popors. "Let Mummy see your poor widdle handies!"

"Never mind about his poor handies!" Saradoc roared. "Look at what he's done to Mother's roses!"

"They is for you Mummy, gotted them all by myselfs!" Merry gave a wounded sniff. "And for Daddy, but now he's cross and cross! They was for you, for my birfday! Grandpapa sayed!"

"Did he indeed?" Saradoc snatched his Heir Apparent up under his arm. "Well we'll see what a spanking has to say about it!"

"Saradoc Brandybuck!" Esmeralda flung herself across his path, barring the way with outstretched arms. "Don't you dare! It's his birthday and even you may not chastise a ribadyan!* "

"Step aside wife! I've had enough…"

"You put him down at once! Saradoc! No…"

The pair were shouting above the sound of Merry who had set up a loud wailing and was battering his fists against his father's side, "put down! Daddy no… no… no spank! Bad Daddy! No! No! No!"

"What in Zaragamba's name is all this stupid fuss and commotion about?" Bilbo, who had crept surreptitiously into the room and was about to speak up in Merry's defence, jumped out of his skin when Old Rory appeared just by his left elbow. "Stop this racket! This should be a happy day, a day to celebrate!"

"And so it would be, if you would stop filling my son's head with nonsense!" Saradoc turned his attention to his father, "Ever since you gave him that blasted room, he's been running riot all over the Hall…"

"He's just high spirited because it's his birthday!" Esmeralda said, tugging at Saradoc's arm in an attempt to get him to release her baby.

"He's a Brandybuck!" Rory slapped his son exuberantly on the back, almost allowing Esmeralda to retrieve Merry. "What do you expect?"

"I don't expect him to give away half the contents of Brandy Hall without even asking!"

"Ho! That's just shows his enterprising nature." Undisguised pride gleamed in Rory's eyes. "A chip off the old block!"

"Nor do I expect him to tear up his grandmother's flowerbed, nor take Cook's best rolling pin and present it to the scullery maid, nor announce to Toby, the stable lad, that my best mare is his… and… and look at this… he gave this to Frodo Baggins if you please!"

Saradoc finally released the squalling Merry in order to reach into his own waistcoat pocket and pull out a large piece of paper. He handed it to his father with a theatrical flourish. It was a cheque, torn raggedly from his father's special accounts book, filled in with the legend….