Kneeling in one of the flowerbeds at Bag End, Sam paused wearily to wipe the perspiration off his forehead.  Afterward, reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a soft cotton handkerchief and mopped some beads of sweat off his cheeks.  He glanced up at the cloudless sky, and then scanned the garden.  So far, it had been a blazing hot summer, but the past two days had been especially hot, yet he dared not stop.  Hamfast had been sick for a few days, and Sam had stopped working to help his little sister take care of him during that time, since their mother was at the home of his older brother, Hamson, helping to look after his newly born daughter.  While Sam and Marigold had been looking after their Gaffer, weeds had seemed to spring up all over the Bag End grounds overnight, which had upset Mr. Bilbo.  Sam was bound and determined to clear them all out before that day was over—before lunch, if possible.  And then, he was going to have to water all the flowers and vegetables.  If he didn’t, they would die.

Sam looked up at the sky.  The sun was practically overhead; it was almost noon, the hottest part of the day.  “I’ve been at this for hours,” he muttered, “but I can’t stop yet.”  He had had nothing to eat or drink since first breakfast early that morning, but he had no intention of stopping even for a meal until all the Bag End grounds had been cleared of weeds.  Only then would he relax and eat.  Mr. Bilbo had not said anything when he had first stepped outside early that morning and looked at his weed-infested garden, but the expression on his face had said it all.  And then, just a short time later, Sam had overheard him complaining about the weeds to Mr. Frodo…

“Sam’s a good lad, but I’m not sure he is up to handling the garden all by himself yet, Frodo.  Look at all these weeds!”

“But, Uncle, it can’t be helped.  Once Master Hamfast is up and around, the garden will be its usual splendour.”

Mr. Bilbo had sighed.  “I know.  And Sam’s doing his best, but he’s only 20, Frodo.  That’s very young for this much responsibility.”…

“I’ve got to get all these weeds cleared out,” Sam muttered to himself.  “It’s all my fault they got here!”  Gritting his teeth and straightening his back, he wadded up his handkerchief and stuffed it back into his pocket, and then he glanced ruefully down at his homespun cotton shirt, wet with perspiration.  Well, there was nothing to do about that.  Pursing his lips in determination, he bent back over the clump of weeds sprouting from the side of the flower garden, clenched them tightly, and yanked them out.

As minutes went on, the need to keep wiping his forehead gradually subsided.  Indeed, once, when Sam reached up to wipe his forehead yet again, he discovered that it was dry.  A few moments later, he realized he was panting.  Why did he feel that he couldn’t get enough breath?

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness swept over him; it felt as if the world was spinning.  Wincing, he bent over and planted his palms firmly on the hard-packed soil to prevent himself from toppling over, and waited for the dizziness to pass.  Nausea surged in his stomach, and he was suddenly too weak to sit back up.  As Sam bent his head downward, he noticed that his wrists and the backs of his hands were flushed.

Without warning, everything went back.

XXXXXXX

Merry and Pippin, who had arrived at Bag End an hour before for a month-long visit, sat at the dining table with Frodo and Bilbo, where they had just finished having lunch.  Bilbo was drinking a full glass of ale; Frodo was drinking a half-glass of wine; and Merry and Pippin were drinking milk.  Two unlit pipes lay on the light-brown table, each near Bilbo or Frodo’s plate; they were all planning to go for a short walk when they got up, and Bilbo and Frodo intended to smoke their pipes while they did.

As Bilbo, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin filled up the corners, Merry, who had just taken the last bite of his apple, decided to go outside and see what Sam was doing.  He dropped the core on his gleaming snow-white china plate and pushed his chair back.  “Where are you going?” Pippin asked him, a half-eaten honeycake in his hand, as Merry jumped up.

“Going out to see Sam,” Merry said.  “If he’s finished for the day, maybe he can go with us.”

Merry went out the round front door; suddenly, it felt as if he had suddenly entered a furnace, it felt so hot.  Beads of sweat immediately began to form on his forehead as he paused to scan the horizon.  Suddenly, he saw a figure lying face-down in one of the flowerbeds.  He rushed to see what was happening.  It was Sam.

“Sam!  Sam!”  Alarmed, Merry bent over and turned Sam over on his back.  The gardener was insensible, and his face was beet-red and dry.  There was not even the slightest trace of perspiration on his face.  His breathing was rapid and shallow.

“Bilbo!  Frodo!”  Merry straightened his back as he hollered.  To his left, he heard the front door swinging and footsteps rushing out onto the path.

“Merry!  What is the matter?”  Bilbo darted towards them, followed by Frodo and Pippin.

“It’s Sam!  He’s passed out.”  Merry gently shook the gardener by his shoulder.  Sam did not respond.  “Look at his face!  It’s so red.”

Kneeling, Bilbo bent over Sam.  “It certainly is, and he’s not sweating.”  Consternation etched his face as he peered intently at the gardener’s red countenance and rubbed his fingertips over Sam’s soft but dry forehead.  “This is not good,” he muttered under his breath.  Straightening his back, he looked grimly at Merry, who crouched next to him, and then at Pippin and Frodo, who both knelt on the other side of Sam.  “And you know what that means.”

Frodo’s face went white as he nodded.  “Sunstroke,” he whispered.

Bilbo nodded.  “I’m afraid so,” he said.  “It’s been so abominably hot as of late, and unless I’m mistaken, Frodo-lad, Sam’s been working just as hard as he can to catch up on his work, now that his Gaffer is well again.  He must have overheard me complaining to you about the weeds when he arrived for work, and since then, he’s been trying to clear them all out at once.”  He looked from Merry to Pippin as they exchanged puzzled glances.  “Weeds have overgrown my gardens while Sam was stuck at home, tending his sick father with Marigold,” he explained.  “His mother’s not at home at this time, so the job of nursing Master Hamfast has fallen on Samwise and Marigold’s young shoulders.”  Bilbo scanned the faces of all three young hobbits.  “We’re going to need the healer, and fast.  Sam probably hasn’t had a single break since he got started early this morning.  No telling how long he’s been unconscious.”

He looked at Merry.  “Mistress Rose lives at the foot of the Hill.  Would you run down there and bring her?”

Nodding, Merry leaped to his feet and darted down the path.  Bilbo turned to his remaining cousins.  “Would you two help me get Sam inside?  Pippin, you go on ahead and hold the door open for us.”

Bilbo gently lifted Sam up in his arms, and Frodo stayed close by.  As Pippin held the round front door wide open, the other two carried the young gardener inside the smial and into one of the guest bedrooms.  It felt much cooler inside the smial than it did outside in the hot sun.  After Bilbo had laid the unconscious young gardener on the bed, he began to unbutton Sam’s homespun weskit.  Within minutes, with Frodo’s help, he had undressed Sam down to his smallclothes.  Sam’s whole body was red and dry, and he continued to take rapid, shallow breaths.

The soft featherbed mattress sagged and creaked underneath Bilbo’s weight as he perched on the edge of the bed.  He spent a moment in deep thought.  “We need some ice,” he said, “and we need it fast.  We cannot wait for the healer.  Time is of the essence.”  He turned to Pippin.  “Pippin, I want you to go down to Number 3 Bagshot Row right now, and tell the Gaffer and Marigold what has happened to Sam.”  Nodding, Pippin jumped to his feet and rushed out the bedroom door.

Frodo rose to his feet.  “I’ll go to the cellar and get some ice.”

Bilbo nodded his thanks.  “Don’t forget to get a couple of towels, too.  You’ll need them to wrap the ice in; we need them for his armpits.  Chop up enough ice to wrap the chips up in both.”

With a nod, Frodo hurried out the bedroom and, after fetching a pair of towels from the kitchen, darted toward the cellar.  There were three huge blocks of ice covered in thick, soft layers of sawdust; one of them was chopped up nearly a quarter of the way through.  An icepick lay on a table near that block; snatching it up, Frodo swept the sawdust off the top of the ice block.  So cold in here! Frodo thought, shivering, as he hacked away at the block of ice with the icepick.  But there’s no time to waste.  Sam needs this ice, fast!  After Frodo had chopped a considerable amount of ice chips off of the ice block, he divided the chips into two batches, wrapped each batch in a towel, and covered up the ice block’s exposed surface with the sawdust.  Then he carried the towels to the guest bedroom, closing the round door behind him as he left the cellar.

Back in the bedroom, Frodo carefully laid one of the wrapped-up towels underneath Sam’s left armpit.  Bilbo laid the other towel underneath the other armpit.  He sighed.  “Now we wait for Mistress Rose,” he said, drumming his fingertips on the soft bedspread.

Frodo nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed.  He gently laid his hand on Sam’s arm.  It felt so hot.  Come on, Mistress Rose, hurry up! he silently pleaded, as he wrung his hands.

XXXXXXX

Merry came darting to the round blue door of Mistress Rose, out of breath, and knocked.  Seconds later, the door swung open, and a stout, middle-aged lady stood in the doorway.

“Please hurry and come up to Bag End!” Merry said, panting.  “Samwise Gamgee is unconscious; he collapsed while he was working in the garden.  His skin is hot and dry—and red.”

Mistress Rose nodded.  “Sounds like a sunstroke,” she said.  “There’s no time to waste.  We must get up there immediately.  But first, I must get my things.  And you—”  She looked intently at Merry and then nodded.  “You are going to get a drink of water.  You ran all the way from Bag End, didn’t you?”  The young hobbit nodded, trying to catch his breath.  “Before we go back to Bag End, I want you to drink some water.  It’s much too hot to be running outside; there’s not even a hint of a breeze to cool things off.  I won’t have you coming down with heat stroke, too, Merry.  Or heat exhaustion.”  She left the door as Merry waited outside.

Just a moment later, she came back out, her healer bag in one hand and an empty mug in the other; her ivory pendulum’s dark-brown silk cord was draped around her neck.  She handed the mug to Merry and swung the door shut.  “Time is of the essence,” she said.  “If we don’t treat Sam immediately, he may die.”  Biting his lower lip, Merry nodded.  He knew.  A friend of his in Buckland had died of sunstroke the year before.  “But first, your water.”

Meekly, Merry followed her around the edge of her smial to a nearby water pump.  After he had filled the mug to the rim with cool water, he gulped most of it down and splashed the rest of it on his sweaty face.  It felt good on his hot, perspiring skin.

“Bring the mug with you; there’s no time to waste taking it back inside,” Mistress Rose ordered.  Nodding acquiescence, Merry followed her up the path toward Bag End, her mug in hand.  They hurried up the Hill without running.

XXXXXXX

Pippin came to Number 3 Bagshot Row and knocked on the Gamgees’ round orange door.  As the door swung open, Marigold stepped onto the threshold.

“May I see the Gaffer?” Pippin asked.

Marigold nodded.  “Dad!”  Half-turning about, she raised her voice, since the Gaffer was hard of hearing.  Pippin followed her into the front room, shutting the door behind him.  A moment later, the Gaffer stepped into the room.  He frowned when he saw Pippin’s usually cheerful face looking so grim.

“Is summat wrong, Master Pippin?” he asked.

Pippin nodded.  “Sam fainted in the vegetable garden,” he said.  “He was all hot and dry when I left, and red.  Merry’s gone down the Hill to get the healer.”

The Gaffer’s face turned ashen.  “Sunstroke,” he whispered.  “My Sam’s needing me.”

Marigold put her hand on her father’s shoulder.  “You can’t go up that Hill now, Dad.  You only just got well yourself.  You’re not strong enough yet, and Mum’s not here to help you.”

A grim determined look spread over the Gaffer’s face.  “I’ll go, if I have to go on my hands and knees.”  He stepped back toward a nearby table to get his hat.

Pippin bit back an amused expression at the thought of Hamfast Gamgee trying to crawl up the path toward Bag End.  “You don’t have to do that,” he said.  “You can lean on my shoulder.”

“And mine,” Marigold said, reaching for her father.

“Where is your mum?” Pippin asked her, as he stepped up to Hamfast’s side.

The Gaffer looked at him as he set his hat on the back of his head.  “At our oldest son’s smial.  His wife just had a baby the other day.  But we’ll talk about that later, Master Pippin; right now, we got to get to Sam!”  Pippin nodded agreement.

And so, after the Gaffer had wrapped his arms around the shoulders of Marigold and Pippin, he left the smial and began to make his slow way up Bagshot Row toward Bag End.  As soon as they were halfway between Number 3 and Bag End, they were overtaken by Merry and Mistress Rose.

“The Gaffer wants to go up to Bag End to see his son,” Pippin told them.  “He wants to be with Sam.”

The healer nodded as if she had expected as much.  “You’ll have to excuse us, Gaffer,” she said.  “Time is of the essence, so I’ve got to hurry.  You can come up to Bag End, but come slowly; you, too, Marigold and Pippin.  I don’t want to have any extra patients on my hands right now.  I will need them both for Sam.”

The Gaffer nodded, and the healer and Merry hurried up the Hill toward Bag End.  The Gaffer, Marigold, and Pippin came up the Hill more slowly.

XXXXXXX

“The Gaffer’s coming with Pippin and Marigold!” Merry announced, as he rushed into Bag End’s guest bedroom with Mistress Rose.  “They’re coming more slowly because the Gaffer hasn’t regained his old strength yet.”  He pulled out his handkerchief to wipe his still-damp face.  At least, he thought, it felt much cooler in the smial than it did outdoors.

Bilbo, who was still perched on the edge of the bed, nodded.  “That’s wise.”  He sighed.  “As hot as it is, and as weak as Master Hamfast still is from his recent illness, I wish he’d stay at No. 3, but I understand how he feels.  If something like this were to happen to Frodo, nothing would stop me from rushing to his side.”  He glanced at Frodo as he spoke, and a wan smile flitted across his young cousin’s face.  Bilbo inserted the fingers of his right hand into one of his weskit pockets, and Frodo stood fidgeting.

They heard the front door swing open; a moment later, Marigold rushed in, followed by her father and Pippin.  “Sam!  Sam!” she cried, rushing toward the bed.

“Oh, my poor lad!” said Hamfast with a groan, as he approached Sam’s bedside.  “Sam-laddie, what have you done?”  He had already taken off his hat, so its brim dangled from his hand at his side.

Bilbo rose to his feet to lay a supporting hand on the Gaffer’s arm.  “It’s all right, Master Hamfast,” he said gently, as he took Hamfast’s hat and then assisted his gardener into a nearby hardback chair that Frodo had moved to the side of the bed.  “The healer’s here, and she’ll do everything she can for Sam.”  Nodding, the Gaffer shifted his weight on the chair’s hard, unyielding surface.

Mistress Rose was already examining Sam, and soon, she gave Bilbo an approving smile.  “Well done, Bilbo; you have done exactly as you should have.  However—”  She paused to look back down at Sam.  “—we need to place some more ice at his neck and at his groin.”  She turned to Frodo.  “Would you get us some more?”

Frodo nodded.  “Of course,” he said.

“I’ll help you,” Merry added.

“And Bilbo, I need some cool water,” Mistress Rose added.  Nodding and still holding the Gaffer’s hat, Bilbo rose to his feet and left the room, followed by Frodo and Merry.  Pippin stayed in the guest bedroom with the Gamgees.  Pulling his soft linen handkerchief out of his weskit pocket, he began to tug it back and forth between his fingers.

Minutes later, Bilbo returned with a basin of water and a soft towel; a short time after that, Frodo returned with a tray piled with ice chips, and Merry returned with two folded towels.  Nodding her thanks, the healer took the towels and unfolded them on the bed next to Sam.  “Bring me the ice, Frodo,” she ordered.  With a nod, Frodo approached her side and held out the tray.  She picked up a batch of ice chips with both hands and dumped it on one of the towels.  Then she picked up the rest of the ice chips and dumped it on the other towel.

Quickly, she wrapped up both batches of ice in the towels, and she laid one of them against the side of Sam’s neck and the other one on top of his smallclothes over his groin.  At her gesture, Bilbo handed her the basin of water and the other towel, and she dipped it into the water and began to wash Sam’s face.

“The ice will help to bring down his body heat,” Mistress Rose said.  “It is my hope that the water will help, too.  When he begins to sweat and the redness leaves his face, he will be out of danger.”  Dipping the towel back into the basin, she started rinsing Sam’s chest.

“I hope he sweats quick,” Hamfast said.  “Seems as how he didn’t stop for nothing.”

Bilbo nodded agreement.  “I fear you’re right, Master Hamfast.  Apparently, he was in such a hurry to get all the weeds cleared out that he didn’t stop for a single break.”

“The more fool he, then,” the Gaffer muttered, scowling.

Bilbo smiled sadly.  “I fear it may have been partly my fault, Master Hamfast,” he said.  “I was upset about all the weeds that had taken over my gardens, early this morning.  Sam must have overheard me complaining about it to Frodo when he first arrived for work, and he must have felt personally responsible.  The poor lad must have been so determined to remove every last trace of weeds before he was done for the day.  He didn’t even stop for elevenses.”  He shook his head.

“He sure didn’t,” Merry said softly.  “Or anything else, for that matter.”

“Well, he’s going to have to stop now,” Mistress Rose added.  “Indeed, he’s going to have no choice.  If he survives this crisis, he won’t be doing any more work outside today, or for another week.”  She glanced down at her patient.  “All we can do now is wait, and keep replenishing the ice and the water as often as necessary.  I will have to keep rinsing his body, too.”  Bilbo nodded.  “He also needs to drink some water.  Would one of you bring me a glass of water?”

“I will.”  Merry darted out the bedroom door.

The Gaffer stood up.  “I’m going outside to see how much he’s done, so far.”

“I’m going with you,” Frodo said.  Pippin and Marigold stayed with Bilbo to keep an eye on Sam.

Frodo and the Gaffer went outside, where they surveyed the gardens.  They slowly walked up and down the flower gardens and through the vegetable garden.

“My Sam’s done a thorough job,” the Gaffer said, at last.  “Only lacks this one patch in the corner.  All the gardens need watering, though.”

Frodo nodded.  “Yes, he has,” he agreed, “and that one patch can wait.  It’s only a small patch, anyway, and it won’t take long to root out.  And it won’t hurt to wait a few hours to water them all.”  He laid his hand on the gaffer’s arm.  “And now let’s get back inside.  Sam won’t want to hear that his father has gotten sunstroke, too, when he regains consciousness.”

They went back inside.  Bilbo was holding up Sam’s head and giving him sips of water, and Mistress Rose was rinsing the young apprentice gardener’s arms with the wet towel.  The Gaffer lowered himself back onto the chair and brushed Sam’s hair out of his eyes.

“Bilbo’s already given Sam some sips of water,” Merry told them.  Hamfast nodded.

A long silence set in.  Nobody spoke a word.  Frodo kept wringing his hands.  Pippin continually shifted his weight from one foot to the other; all the while, he kept tugging his handkerchief between his hands.  Standing stock-still at the foot of the bed, his hands resting lightly on its edge, Merry exchanged worried glances with Frodo.  Bilbo stayed close to Hamfast; from time to time, he laid a hand on the Gaffer’s shoulder.

Over and over, Mistress Rose dipped the towel into the basin and gently wiped Sam’s flushed, dry face and then his chest; twice, she used her pendulum to monitor his condition.  From time to time, one of the younger hobbits went to the cellar to replenish the ice chips, and the healer would wrap them up in the towels and lay them back underneath Sam’s armpits, alongside his neck, and on his groin.  Sometimes, the Gaffer lifted up his son’s head and gave him a sip of water.  All the while, Sam lay silent and motionless.  The atmosphere was heavy with fear and worry.  No one dared to voice their apprehension that Sam might die.

After a while, the deep red on his skin began to fade.  Slowly, it was replaced with his normal skin colour.  Tiny droplets of sweat finally began to appear on his forehead.  Throwing a handkerchief out of his pocket, the Gaffer reached over to wipe the sweat off his son’s face.  “You can do it, Sam-lad,” Hamfast whispered.  “You can beat this sunstroke!”

Frodo, for his part, practically held his breath.  Please, Sam, he silently begged, come back to us!

A few minutes later, Sam’s eyelids blinked and then opened.  He gazed up at the hobbits surrounding him.  Relief etched their faces.

“Sam!  My boy!”  The Gaffer groaned in relief as he rose to his feet and bent over his son to hug him.  Gently, he wrapped his arms around Sam’s shoulders and clasped him to his bosom, and then laid him back down on the featherbed mattress.

“Sam!  Oh, Sammy!” Marigold cried.

Bilbo sighed, his eyes shining with relief.  “You had us worried, lad.”

“You sure did,” Frodo agreed.  Merry and Pippin nodded agreement.

Sam smiled apologetically.  “I didn’t mean to worry you all none.”  He looked up at Bilbo with sadness.  “I wanted to get rid of those weeds, Mr. Bilbo, since I let them spread all through your gardens.”

Bilbo winced.  “I know why you did,” he said.  “You heard me complaining to Frodo early this morning, when you first arrived.  That was bad timing on my part.”

Sam nodded, blushing with shame at the memory.  “I saw that look on your face, too.  You were that upset, I could tell.  I wanted to make it up to you.”  He glanced out the window.  “And I’m not finished yet.  I got to get back out and pull up the rest of those weeds.  I got to water the gardens, too.”

Mistress Rose shook her head.  “Not today, you’re not,” she ordered firmly, “and not for the next week, either.  For the next few days, you are to stay in bed.  What’s more, you are to rest for the next seven days, at least, until I say you can return to work.  You are not to go back outside until then.”

Sam looked distressed.  “But I got to pull up the rest of them weeds, Mistress Rose.  If I don’t root the rest of them out and keep them rooted out, they’ll take over the gardens again.  And the flowers and vegetables need watering.”

The Gaffer chuckled.  “Sam, Mr. Frodo and I looked over the gardens as Mistress Rose was tending you.  Only a small clump of weeds is left to pull up.  And I can pull them up myself.”

“And I’ll help Dad water the gardens, Sam,” Marigold assured her brother.

Nodding at her, Hamfast wagged his finger at Sam.  “You’re to stay in bed till Mistress Rose says you can get up, Sam, and you will not get back to work till she says you can.”  Lowering his head, Sam nodded acquiescence.

“And you will stay here at Bag End while you’re recuperating,” Bilbo told the young apprentice gardener.  “It would not be safe for us to carry you outside while it’s this hot, and while you’re still recovering from sunstroke.  Frodo and his cousins and I will take care of you.”

“That is a good idea,” the healer agreed.  “I do not want you going outside until I say otherwise, Sam.  What’s more, I want you to drink lots of water for the next few days.  You lost too much water while you were working so hard outside, this morning, and you’ve got to replenish it.”

“I’ll go get you a glass of water right now.”  Merry left the room.

Bilbo looked into Sam’s eyes, a serious look on his face.  “Samwise,” he said, “you are never to work outside without a break.  Even if those weeds had completely choked out my flowers and vegetables, and even if my gardens had all wilted and died, they would not have been worth your life.  Upset as I was to see those weeds this morning, I would have much more upset at having to watch your family grieving at your funeral.  From now on, Sam, no matter what, you are to take a break every so often while you’re working.  And you are to get something cool to drink off and on, while you’re out in the gardens.  And that goes double for when it’s as hot as it is right now.  This is good weather to get sunstroke in, as you have just found out.”

“I expect you to do as Mr. Bilbo just told you, Samwise,” Hamfast ordered sternly.  Meekly, Sam nodded.  His father’s face softened.  “Meanwhile, I’ll finish the job you started.  It won’t take long.”

“I’ll have Frodo or Merry bring a stool out to you, Master Hamfast, so you can sit down while you’re weeding,” Bilbo told the Gaffer.  “And I’ll see that you and Marigold have some water to drink while you’re out there.  I don’t want you two getting sunstroke, too!”

“Thank you,” Hamfast said gratefully.  He looked at his daughter.  “Marigold and I will water the gardens afterward.”

At that moment, Merry brought a glass of water into the guest bedroom.  Hamfast took it and gave Sam several cool swallows before he handed it to Marigold.  With a tender, encouraging smile, Bilbo gently patted Sam’s furry foot, and then he turned to the healer.  “How much longer do we need to leave the ice on Samwise, Mistress Rose?”

Mistress Rose gazed down at Sam for a moment.  “Not much longer now—just a half-hour, at most.  Then we’ll get a nightshirt on him, so he can rest.  In the meantime, I believe that some broth would be good for Sam, right now.”

“I think I can make go make some,” Bilbo said, turning to exit the room.  He turned to Merry.  “Would you fill a pitcher with water and keep it on the table by the door?  Set it there along with a couple of mugs.  I’ve got to make Sam some broth, so you’ll need to see to it that the Gaffer and Marigold have plenty of water to drink while they’re working.”

“Yes, Bilbo,” said Merry, scurrying out of the bedroom.  “I’ll get the stool for the Gaffer, too.”

“I’ll go home and get your nightshirt, Sam,” Marigold said.  She looked up at her father.  “And then, I’ll join you in the gardens.”  The Gaffer nodded.

Everyone left the room but Frodo, who took the chair just vacated by the Gaffer.  “Sam,” he said, “I want you to make me a promise, all right?  I want you to promise me that you will do as Bilbo has just told you.”

Sheepishly, Sam nodded.  “I promise, Mr. Frodo.  It’s just—I felt so bad, ‘cause I let those weeds get out of hand.”

“Sam,” Frodo said, taking his hand, “it wasn’t your fault.  Your duty was to your Gaffer then, because he was sick and he needed you, especially since your mother’s not home.  You could not do that and tend our gardens, too.  You came back to work just as soon as you could.  It would not have done the gardens any harm for you to work at a slower pace.  It would have taken longer to pull the weeds, true, but the flowers and vegetables would have survived.  You, on the other hand, almost did not.”

Sam nodded, smiling ruefully.  “Yes, Mr. Frodo,” he said.  “I won’t do that again.”

Frodo nodded, smiling.  “Good.”

And so, the two hobbits waited for Bilbo to bring Sam some broth, and for Marigold to bring her brother’s nightshirt.  Frodo exchanged a smile with Sam.  We came so close to losing you, Sam, he thought.  I could not have born that.  None of us could have.  We need you, Sam—I certainly do!  And not just because you and your father are our gardeners, either.  With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair as Sam closed his eyes.

THE END