“Hey Diddle Diddle, the Cat and the Fiddle,
The Goat jumped over the Moon…”
   
Paladin grimaced. He had a headache and it wasn’t getting any better. In fact, it was getting worse. He stopped what he was doing and massaged his temples, trying to rub the ache away. It didn’t help and he sighed. Perhaps he’d do some work that took him further from the farmhouse. No, he really needed to get these shelves repaired today. Strengthening his resolve, Paladin bent to his task again. He trained his eyes on the piece of wood he was attempting to cut, lined it up carefully and began to saw.
  
SCREEEEECH! 
 
“Ahh!” The saw shot past the length of wood and ran over his fingers, leaving a jagged, but shallow cut behind. Paladin dropped the saw and muttered a colourful oath as he hopped around clutching his hand. He located a rag and wrapped it around his fingers, then threw open the door of his workshop and stormed out.
 
Eglantine looked up from her gardening and frowned when she saw her husband walking in her direction. He had a rag wrapped around his left hand and a scowl of determination on his face. She sighed. Their son’s new pastime had struck again, apparently. 
 
“Tina! We have to be doing something about this or I’ll never get any work done until he learns to play that confounded thing right! Which most likely is going to take quite some time by the sound of things.” 
 
“Now Pad,” Eglantine stood and brushed the hair from her face with the back of her gloved hand before dropping the spade back into the dirt next to her flowers. “He’s had it barely a week.”
  
“Aye! And a week in which I’ve been alternately poked, pummeled, near deafened, and now almost had my fingers cut clean off in the bargain!” He held out his bandaged hand for her inspection and Eglantine gently unwrapped it, clucking at him. 
 
“Paladin Took! Why, you barely have more than a scratch here. What’s all this carrying on about?”
 
Paladin grimaced as the laborious sounds of ‘music’ drifted from Pippin’s bedroom window again, and turned a pleading look to his wife. “My ears can’t take it any more, Tina! Why, I’m ready to feed that thing to Oddie!”

Eglantine giggled at the thought of the great bull devouring the object of her husband’s displeasure. “Ah well, you did say yes when he asked for it, and now it’s too late to be taking it back. Besides, ‘twill be lovely when he learns to play it well…” she couldn’t help her own wince of discomfort when a particularly high pitched squeal assaulted her ears, “and then he can share his gift with the whole family.”  

Paladin chuckled at the look on her face. “He’s already sharing it, and sharing it to distraction. Why, he almost put Pervinca’s eye out with the bow last night. Aren’t there safer things for the boy to be playing? How about a nice flute? No, I’m certain he could make one of those sound just as bad. Hmm…” he rubbed his chin with his uninjured hand and Eglantine cuffed him playfully.
 
“Why can’t he just stick to singing? The lad has a beautiful voice and he can’t harm anyone with that,” Paladin said, his voice just a hair shy of becoming a whine.  

“Paladin, stop your complaining. You started this by getting it for him.”

“Well, I was tired of him sneaking mine out whenever I wasn’t paying attention. He plucked away at the strings so hard I was afraid he’d break them. I’ve had that fiddle since I was a lad.”

“And I can imagine what your parents said while you were learning to play it!”

They both winced as another screeech came from Pippin’s fiddle and then was followed by a mournful howl. They turned in time to see Dizzy, Pippin’s hound, leap from the bedroom window and run towards the barn.

“Oh my.” Eglantine pressed a hand to her mouth.

“I can’t recall ever having that much trouble learning to play mine,” Paladin sniffed. “I picked it up right away, and I never sounded like a horde of tomcats chasing after a pussycat in heat—OWW! What’d you do that for?” Paladin rubbed at his ear, staring at his wife in disbelief.

“Paladin Took! You’re acting worse than a child your son’s age, and if you use that kind of language again I’ll box your other ear!” Eglantine scolded.

“But--”

Eglantine shook her head and pointed. “If you want Pippin to learn how to play his fiddle the right way then you’d best get busy and start teaching him.”

“I can’t help it if my ears are sensitive. All right, all right! Maybe it’ll make him a wee bit less dangerous at least,” Paladin grumbled and headed for the pump to wash his cut.

Eglantine watched him go, a smile playing about the corners of her mouth. She had to admit, the lad was certainly finding more ways to get into trouble inadvertently than he usually did, and something had to give soon. The bow waving about whilst he practiced had proved to be a big part of the problem, abused ears aside. So far Pippin had managed to break several of her most treasured items, including a lovely old platter left to her by her grandmother. “Well, he needs to learn to stay in one place whilst he practices, not run all about the house looking for someone new to entertain.”

Eglantine headed up the path after her husband, still considering the situation. What Pippin needed was someone else to entertain. Or perhaps several ‘someones’. Wasn’t Meriadoc visiting with Frodo and Bilbo at Bag End for most of the summer?
 
******  

“Mercy! What is that awful sound? Is someone killing a wild boar back there?”
 
Bilbo stopped to lean on his walking staff as he reached the entrance to Bag End, his face twisted into a most appalling grimace.
 
“No,” sighed Frodo, “no wild boars. Pippin has joined us for a visit.”
 
Bilbo raised his eyebrows to encourage his nephew to continue. The arrival of the little Took usually increased the level of sound at Bag End, but not to the current degree. “Someone is tormenting the lad?”
 
“No. Pippin is the one inflicting the torment. Paladin gave him his own fiddle and he is most eager to demonstrate to everyone his newfound talent for playing it.”

Seated beside Frodo, Merry nodded in agreement. Both lads wore pained expressions upon their usually smiling faces. Bilbo nodded his understanding as an even higher pitched screeching came from the back garden. All three cringed.
 
“Sam was tending to the dahlias when Pippin cornered him. Perhaps . . .” Merry paused as the racket escalated to a screaming crescendo, “we should rescue him now.”

“True,” Frodo sighed. “We did rather abandon him.”
 
“Oh dear,” Bilbo shook his head as the three of them started towards the back garden. “It’s going to be a long visit.”

They found Pippin holding his fiddle under one arm and taking an elaborate bow while Samwise Gamgee applauded him earnestly, if a bit stiffly; he had something pink tucked between his right elbow and his side. They turned as one when Bilbo called out, “Hoi there, young Peregrin! Just when did you arrive?” Bilbo knelt and held out his arms and the eager lad sprinted into them.

“Cousin Bilbo!” he exclaimed, waving the bow over his head, “I play fiddle now, Cousin Bilbo!”

“I know lad, I heard you as we came around the hole.” Bilbo looked over the child’s shoulder. “Hullo Sam! And thank you for helping keep our Pippin out of mischief until I got home.”

Sam gave him a nod, an odd smile still plastered on his face. “I was glad to do whatever I could, Mr Bilbo,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Here’s Miss Tulip, Master Pippin,” he said, handing the toy over.
 
“Thank you, Sam,” The child chirped. He grinned up at Bilbo. “She does love to hear me play, but I can’t have her on my left shoulder as that is where the fiddle needs to be, and she says it is hard to stay on my right shoulder with my having to bow, so I asked Sam to hold her for me. He really is so very nice, Cousin Bilbo. Cousin Bilbo?”

The old hobbit was distracted. He could have sworn that, as the lad was talking, Tulip’s embroidered eyes had grown larger, as though in fear, and that she had shaken her head “No!” He shook his own head to clear it and the knitted piggy looked just as she always did.
 
“Yes, Pippin,” he replied while still looking at the toy in the child’s hand and absently patting Pippin’s head. “Yes, Sam is a good lad.”

Merry grinned wickedly as he leaned over and whispered “Sam, you can stop grinding your teeth now.”

“I have to go home. I think my mother is calling me.” Sam walked away, appearing a little unsteady.
 
“Almost as if he’d been into the Gaffer’s home-brew,” mused Frodo, watching him leave. “We’ll see you later, Sam,” he called.

Sam waved a hand over his shoulder without bothering to turn. “Not if I see him first,” he muttered.

“Good bye Sam!” Pippin waved the bow in a farewell salute. “I’ll play some more for you when you come tomorrow.”

Merry, Frodo and Bilbo slowly exchanged looks of terror as they recalled Pippin was to be with them for four whole weeks.

***

After spending the remainder of the day attempting to avoid one young hobbit’s fiddle-playing expertise, or rather, lack of it, they decided to retire early in the evening. All Bilbo wanted now was to get the little scamp into bed so he could have some peace, a cup of tea, and a few hours to linger over his books and maps.

Merry was fine with that. After all, he’d nearly lost an eye to Pippin’s enthusiastic bowing style, and despite being able to save his eyeball by ducking just in time, Pippin had still somehow managed to poke him over and over with the long bow no matter how hard he tried to avoid his little cousin. Merry was certain he’d never felt more weary in the whole of his young life.
 
Frodo had actually managed to distract the youth for a short while by asking Pippin all about his latest adventures with Tulip. However, the urge to make music overcame even a discussion surrounding his ever-present companion, and Pippin was soon plucking away at the strings with renewed vigour. All Frodo could do was discreetly stuff some cotton in his ears and paste a wan smile on his face. 
 
They settled into the calm night at last, Frodo curled up in a corner of the couch with a book, Merry with his feet propped up on a footstool, hands tucked leisurely behind his head, eyes closed. The younger hobbit heaved a great sigh of relief.

“At long, long last. I don’t think I could have taken another minute of that caterwauling he thinks of as music.”
 
Frodo glanced over at him, a little smile turning up the corner of his mouth. “This was only the first day of a month long visit. Whatever are we going to do with that fiddle for the next twenty nine days?” Frodo chuckled when Merry released a groan without opening his eyes.  

“I’m thinking very seriously about Bilbo’s goat idea.”
 
Frodo rolled his eyes and chuckled.  

“Or perhaps I could ‘accidentally’ sit on it,” Merry continued. “We might drop it down the well. There’d be no evidence. Oh! I know! We could--”
 
“Merry,” Frodo snorted.

“I’m going to dream about that dratted fiddle every night while he’s here, you know. That is, if I survive tomorrow’s concert…”

Frodo shook his head and said nothing, although he was in wholehearted agreement with his cousin.
  
The smial grew calm and peaceful as the night lengthened. Bilbo was enjoying his solitude. Taking a break from his studies he went to the window and leaned on his elbows, taking pleasure in the sweet evening scents. He mulled over ideas for keeping Pippin occupied over the next several weeks so they wouldn’t end up losing their minds. He chuckled, recalling his threat to obtain a goat. Bilbo inhaled the fresh air once more before turning back to his book. Just one more chapter and then—

SCREEEEECH!  

Whatever was. . .”Oh, no! No, no, no!” Bilbo threw open the door and scurried down the hall, hands pressed to his long-suffering ears. “Pippin!”  

“Nooo,” Merry moaned as he bolted upright. His confusion turned into a scowl when he realised what was happening. “I thought I was just having a nightmare. Simply a nice terrifying, normal, lurid dream, that’s all.”
 
Frodo was already on his feet, trudging wearily in the direction of Pippin’s room. He got there right behind Bilbo. 
 
“Pippin, lad, whatever are you doing playing your fiddle in the middle of the night? It’s time to sleep!” Bilbo took the instrument from the youngster, barely resisting the urge to snatch it up and toss it away, while Pippin gazed up at him in surprise. The old hobbit couldn’t help chuckling at the bright, impatient green eyes that seemed to sparkle in the dim lamplight.

“But, I have to practice more so I can learn to be very good, Cousin Bilbo! And I woke up with a song in my head, so I had to try making the same tune on my fiddle. Do you want to hear it?” Pippin grinned with excitement and reached for the instrument but Bilbo shook his head and handed it to Frodo.
 
“You can’t play it when you should be sleeping, my lad. Now, we’ll keep your fiddle safe for the night and you, young hobbit, need to return to your bed.”

“All right.” Pippin frowned, but obediently climbed into bed. “You better take very good care of my fiddle, Frodo.”
 
“I will, Pipsqueak. Now, go back to sleep, like Bilbo said.” 
 
Pippin nodded and yawned. “I will. Then I can get up extra early to practice some more. Maybe I’ll even dream more songs!”  

All three stifled their groans until the door to Pippin’s room was closed.

“What are we going to do with him?” Frodo sighed.

“I’m going into Hobbiton tomorrow.”
 
Frodo looked at Bilbo, puzzled. “What for? You were there just today!”

“I think I’m going to purchase a goat.” Bilbo trailed back down the corridor, heading for his bedroom.

"Actually, I’ve always wanted a goat. It’s as good a time as any to get one, wouldn’t you lads agree? Why, they’re good for milk, and I can make cream and butter. And cheese. Better than a cow, really. Smaller. They eat less. Take up less room. They do have a habit of butting people in the arse with their horns, though. However, that could come in handy when we have a visit from Lobelia. Hmmm. . .” Bilbo’s voice grew faint.

“I do believe he’s serious,” Frodo mused, staring after him.

“I certainly hope so,” Merry yawned.