Wide-eyed, Freddy started to crawl backward. "It has been a very nice visit, but I think I must be getting home now." Freddy had decided that mashed turnips were highly preferable to the punishment he would receive for murdering Bilbo Baggins. He rolled to his feet with unexpected speed and grace for one so stout, eluded Frodo's clutching hands, and ran down the hill. He leaped over the back garden fence as fleetly as a young deer, fear giving him speed, and the last Frodo saw of him that day was his round shape receding into the distance and his woolly feet kicking up dust. Later Frodo would have time to reflect, and he would think that the one good thing to come from Bilbo’s wounding was that Freddy avoided Bag End for weeks to come.

Hamfast had seen the commotion and was pointing up. "You, there! I see you! Just you be climbin down here, Mr. Bilbo will no doubt want a word with you, when he comes to."

Frodo climbed down slowly and stood waiting. Hamfast seemed a little surprised and flustered to find the culprit was Mr. Bilbo's nephew-he had expected some rascally Goodchild, or Proudfoot lad-but he kept a firm but gentle grip on his shoulder, as if fearing he might bolt, while Sam was sent to Number Three to fetch his older brothers. Hamson and Halfred came on the run, one took Bilbo's feet and the other his shoulders, and together they wrestled his considerable weight through the door of Bag End. They stretched him out on the sofa in the parlor. Hamfast propped a pillow under his head and another under his feet. Bell dispatched Sam again, this time for a bowl of cool water and some sticking plaster. Sam then moved to Frodo's side and stood close, oozing pity and sympathy, while Ham and Hal put their hands behind their backs and shuffled their feet uneasily on the soft hearthrug. They felt decidedly uncomfortable and out of place in Master Bilbo's fine home, with it’s carved beams and fine furniture, and the watercolor portraits of the Old Master’s esteemed parents hanging over the hearth, boring holes in their backs with their painted eyes.

Frodo sat very quietly in an armchair, while Hamfast applied a plaster over the large bump growing on his uncle's head, and wished he could sink through the floor and disappear. Bell put the basin of water aside and fanned Bilbo gently with her apron. Bilbo smiled and his eyelids fluttered.

"Oh, I believe he's comin round!" Bell said. She lifted his hand and patted it. "Sir! Sir, speak to us!"

Bilbo's eyes were glazed. "The eagles are coming!" he murmured.

"He's ravin'," Hal muttered. Hamfast glared at him, and his older brother gave him a kick.

Bilbo's eyes cleared and he looked around curiously. "How on earth did I get in here?" The last thing he remembered was standing in his study looking over the papers he had gathered, and coming to the conclusion that yes, he was the most foolish old hobbit alive. Why, if couldn't find the words to tell the boy about the gift he had prepared, and what his presence had meant to him, he could surely show him. He had rushed to the front door and stepped outside, closed the door behind him, and then..."What hit me?"

"A cream jug," Bell said, flushing slightly and wringing her hands. T'was she that had supplied the young Master with the weapon, such as it was.

"A big'un. With flowers in it," Hamfast added.

"How on..." Bilbo began, and then spied Frodo huddled miserably in the armchair. "Ah. I see. Well." He sat up, wincing, over Bell and Ham's strong protests. "Now, now, I'm quite all right: My head's not an eggshell that will crack under the mere tap of a falling cream jug. You've been very kind, but you needn't fuss, all of you! I want to talk to Frodo-alone, if you please."

They did not please, but he managed to slowly herd them all out of the hole, like reluctant cows heading out of the barn. Sam in particular had to be forcibly removed from Frodo's side by his mother. Sam was sniffling, sure his beloved young Master was about to get the thrashing of a lifetime.

Bilbo came back, sighed heavily, and plopped down on the sofa. Frodo hiccupped and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He wouldn't have been surprised if Bilbo took the fabulous, (and yet unseen) present and tossed it into the garden, as well as shredding the adoption papers and using them for mulch. Bilbo looked at him with pity, smiled, and patted the sofa. Frodo came over and sat down, and Bilbo put his arm around him. "Now then, my lad, would you mind telling me how I came to be sprawled on my doorstep?”

Frodo told of his scuffle with Freddy on the roof. Bilbo would have laughed, if the poor boy hadn't looked so miserable. "I only wanted to give you an early present for my birthday," Frodo said, his eyes wet. "Because you were going to give one to me, and when I left you earlier you looked so sad."

"And concussion was the surest physic for my sorrows?" Bilbo said teasingly.

Frodo's lip quivered, and Bilbo laughed and squeezed his shoulder. "Oh, dear boy, don't cry anymore! I was only teasing a little, and I am not angry, or even much hurt. My old gourd is harder than that. Why, a giant eagle once dropped an enormous boulder on my head, and if a hobbit can survive that, he can certainly survive a cream jug full of flowers!" They laughed a little together and Bilbo wiped Frodo's face with his handkerchief. (He always kept at least two within reach; a long ago, hurried exit from Bag End had taught him a good lesson about always keeping several stashed away on his person.)

"I won't blame you if you don't want to give me that present now," Frodo said. Or ever, he added to himself.

Bilbo looked surprised. “Of course I am going to give it to you! This very day, or night, rather." Bilbo stood up quickly and clapped his hands. "Get your traveling cloak, my boy, and I'll get some food together, then run down to Number Three with the keys and tell Master Hamfast we will be gone for the rest of today and tonight, and possibly tomorrow morning as well."

Frodo jumped to his feet. "But where are we going?"

"Oh, anywhere will do," Bilbo said vaguely. "So long as it's a good distance away, and fairly flat and in the open, so we can see it clearly."

Frodo laughed out loud. Excitement, curiousity, and relief had mingled together and gone straight to his head like a shot of brandy. "Uncle, you're driving me mad! What? What are we going to see?"

"Now that would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?" Bilbo laughed playfully. But he came close and put his hands on either side of Frodo's face, red-cheeked and glowing in the light of afternoon, and looked on him with such deep fondness that Frodo blushed. Frodo smelled soap, and pipeweed, and ink, and the faintest, dusty hint of old parchment.

How dear the boy has become to me in so short a time, dearer than life; his smile is more precious than gold, and the light of his face brighter than any treasure in old Smaug's jeweled nest! Bilbo thought. But Bilbo was a hobbit, and a Baggins to boot, and though they shone out of his eyes, the words he wished to say stayed hidden in his heart.

******************TBC