Chapter 8. Before the Break of Day

For all his difficulty getting to sleep at bedtime, Pippin was wondrous hard to rouse in the mornings. Paladin solved this problem on this particular morning by tipping his son out of the bed onto the floor. As the near-tween lay blinking up at him, the farmer said with a cheer he didn’t feel, ‘No time like the morning time! ‘Tis halfway to dawn already, sleepyhead! Up you come!’

Mother and sisters were not yet in evidence in the kitchen, and Paladin directed his son to start the morning fire, fetch water, and put the kettle on. Pippin did so, wondering if this was part of the promised reform. Thus far it didn’t seem so onerous, and he could always steal away for a nap later.

Tea was already brewing and early breakfast was on the table when Eglantine emerged. Her eyes were reddened and her face puffy in the lantern light. Pippin didn’t give it a second thought; he was never up before his mother. People usually didn’t look their best upon arising. Many was the time he’d awakened Merry with a pounce and laughed at his cousin’s pillow-creased countenance.

Pippin’s sisters were surprised to see him washed, dressed, and at table on their arrival, but of course no one commented. They ate their bread-and-butter and talked quietly, washing away sleepiness with cups of strong tea. Eglantine said very little.

At last Paladin put down his teacup and stretched. ‘Well, Pip-my-lad,’ he said, ‘drink up! ‘Tis time for us to take our leave.’

 ‘Where are you going?’ Pervinca said. ‘Can’t I come too?’ She bristled at the thought of her little brother ducking his chores once again.

 ‘Nay, lass,’ Paladin said. ‘Your mother needs your cheery help here, and your brother has other fish to fry. Give him a hug, now, for he’ll be gone awhile.’

 ‘Gone?’ Nell whispered, looking from father to mother and back again.

 ‘I’ve found a hobbit to take him on, teach him some useful skills,’ Paladin said.

 ‘You’ve apprenticed Pip?’ Pervinca said in surprise. It was not unheard of, for a farmer to apprentice a younger son or two, to learn new skills, but Pippin was his father’s only son. Of course, his father had hired hobbits to do the heavy work, and Pippin hardly pulled his share, but still...

Pippin’s mouth was open but no sounds came out. His head was spinning at this sudden, unannounced turn of events. He’d been apprenticed? His father was sending him away?

Eglantine rose from her chair and threw her arms about her son, murmuring something inaudible into his curls. She turned abruptly and took up a sack. ‘Here you are,’ she said.

Pippin automatically looked inside, finding his spare set of clothes there, neatly mended, clean and folded. ‘I...’ he said.

Pimpernel saved him the trouble of finding words with her hug, and she was followed by Pervinca, who was weeping.

 ‘It’s not as if he’s going to Sea,’ Paladin said with forced cheer. ‘Your brother will be back like a bad penny, don’t you know.’ He nodded to Pippin. ‘Come, lad,’ he said. ‘Your new master’s waiting.’

Old master was more like it, Pippin thought, when he met the hobbit. He and his parents had mounted ponies and ridden through the Green Hill country for some ways, up hill and down, following winding tracks and splashing through shallow streams in the valley until they reached a little hole in the side of one of the great hills.

Lamplight shone from the one round window, and the tang of wood smoke was in the air. Paladin knocked upon the little round door and it swung open to reveal an elderly hobbit mum, wispy curls drawn into a neat bun, wrinkled face wreathed in smiles. ‘Well come, Farmer Took!’ she said. ‘Missus Took! You’re just in time for breakfast!’

Pippin raised his nose to sniff at the promise coming from the smial, but instead of ushering them in, the old hobbit said, ‘Half a moment!’ and ducked back in through the door, leaving them standing on the doorstep. She came out again with a covered basket on her arm, beckoning them to follow her, chattering all the way.

 ‘He’s in from the fields, knowing you were coming,’ she said. ‘Thought it better if you didn’t have to go in search all over the Green Hill country.’

 ‘Very kind, I’m sure,’ Paladin said.

Round the corner of the hill they came to an enclosure with stony walls of shoulder height. A hobbit sat in the doorway, flanked by two dogs, and a murmur of sheep came from inside the enclosure.

 ‘Breakfast!’ the old hobbit matron carolled. The sitting hobbit rose to his feet, nodding in greeting.

 ‘Shepherd Brockbank,’ Paladin said with a bow. ‘This is my son, Peregrin.’

The sharp old eyes, set deep in the wrinkles of the weathered face, examined Pippin briefly before turning back to the farmer. ‘A bit small for his age,’ he said. ‘But wiry. I imagine he’s strong enough.’

Pippin flushed at this open appraisal, as if he were no more than a pony at market.

 ‘No harm meant,’ the old hobbit said, turning back to him with the hint of a smile.

Paladin’s nudge recalled his son to his manners. ‘Peregrin Took, at your service and your family’s,’ Pippin said automatically, adding a bow.

 ‘Aye, that be the truth,’ the old shepherd said with a nod, before turning back to the farmer. ‘Gladdy’s got hot breakfast ready, I’m certain, and more than enough if you’d wish to join her before riding back home,’ he said. 'Youngster and I'll eat here, of course.' He nodded to the basket on his wife's arm, and Pippin's face fell.

 ‘If you’ve the time, ‘twould be a kindness,’ the old hobbit matron said. ‘Though I’ll warn you, I might chew your ear off! Don’t get much chance to talk, living quiet here as we do!’

 ‘You all have a good chat,’ the shepherd said. ‘Lad and I’ll be fine here.’

Eglantine sniffed and hugged her son once more. ‘Be well,’ she said.

 ‘But...’ Pippin protested.

 ‘Work hard, do well,’ Paladin said. ‘We’ll fetch you back for your birthday.’

 ‘Birthday!’ Pippin said in dismay. Why, that was weeks off—near mid-summer! He was going to be exiled to this lonely place, without friends or diversion, with these hobbits he’d never met, until his birthday!

 ‘I’ll let you know then if I wish to take him on,’ the shepherd said. He measured Pippin with another look. ‘Seven years is the usual agreement.’

 Seven years! Pippin thought. His father was sending him away for seven years... for no more than having done mischief! He swallowed hard. Seven years was the usual term of apprenticeship, he knew, but he had no desire to spend his tween years following a flock of sheep! He and Merry had been laying plans for traipsing about the Shire, visiting Frodo and other relations, seeing what they could see before settling down to the responsibilities of adulthood...

But adulthood had come to him, it seemed. His father had sold him to a shepherd. He was an apprentice... or would be, so it sounded, after his twentieth birthday.

His life was over before it had begun.