The Sandhobbit

“Uncle Bilbo.”

The scritch-scratch of the quill continued across the page and Frodo sighed from the doorway. “Uncle Bilbo,” he repeated, louder this time.

Bilbo’s head did not look up from his task, but remained bent over the desk as he wrote furiously.

“Uncle Bilbo!” 

Startled, Bilbo dropped his quill and pushed away his book, blocking it from sight with his shoulder. It was only then, when he turned his attention to the doorway, that he saw the reason for his disturbance.

“Frodo,” he said, fighting to remain appropriately serious, “what seems to be the trouble?”

Clad in his nightshirt and looking very grumpy, Frodo cast down his sleepy eyes to the floor. There, perched on his foot was Pippin, his tiny arms curled tightly around his cousin’s calf and his neck craned around to gaze at Bilbo with a smile.

“Hullo!” he said cheerfully, waving at the old hobbit. “I think Frodo is mad at me.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Bilbo said, watching in amusement as Frodo slowly limped his way into the study, Pippin still firmly attached to his leg. “Why are you keeping your cousin awake, Pippin? Frodo is getting old and needs plenty of rest.”

“But you’re still awake, and you’re much, much older,” Pippin pointed out guilelessly.

“Ah, yes, that I am,” Bilbo admitted as Frodo stifled a laugh. “Though I don’t feel it at all, my lad, not a bit!” Reaching down, he untangled Pippin’s arms and legs from around his cousin and lifted him onto his lap.

Frodo, finally free of his burden, retreated to the large, cushiony chair by the fire with a grateful sigh. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he said around a yawn. “But I couldn’t get Pippin settled for bed. I don’t know where he gets the energy,” he added, gesturing to his young cousin who had turned his inquisitive gaze to Bilbo’s book.

“No trouble at all, Frodo-lad, no trouble at all!” Bilbo replied, edging his book away from the tiny hands inching toward it before turning to face the hobbit in his lap. This was the first time that Pippin was staying at Bag End without his family, and Bilbo wondered if he was homesick. “What’s wrong, Pippin? Do you miss your family?”

For a moment Pippin wavered. “Maybe a little,” he admitted before throwing his arms around Bilbo and mashing his face into his waistcoat. “But I’m having lots of fun with you and Frodo, so please don’t send me home yet!”

“All right, we’ll keep you a little while longer,” Bilbo replied, patting Pippin’s curls with a chuckle. “Now,” he added, clapping his hands together briskly. “How about a bedtime story?”

“Tried that already,” Frodo replied, yawning enormously. “I read him two stories, in fact, and I gave him warm milk and biscuits, and fluffed his pillows and tucked him in. Nothing works. If anything, he’s more awake now.”

“But did you tell him about the Sandhobbit?” Bilbo asked, winking at Frodo over the top of Pippin’s head.

“The wha – oh,” Frodo replied, recognition dawning. “No, I didn’t. It must have slipped my mind.”

“Who’s the Sandhobbit?” Pippin demanded, tugging on Bilbo’s sleeve.

“Well,” Bilbo began hesitantly. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Oh, yes,” Pippin said eagerly. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise!”

“Good, good,” Bilbo replied in relief. “Now tell me, my lad: in the morning, have you ever noticed that there is sand in the corners of your eyes?”

Pippin thought about this for a moment, one hand unconsciously reaching up to rub at his eye, before nodding slowly.

“The Sandhobbit puts it there,” Bilbo continued. “He is the hobbit in charge of making sure that all the children in the Shire are asleep. Every night he travels from smial to smial and adds the name of each sleeping child to a long list he keeps. Then he places a bit of magic sand around their eyes, to make their dreams happy and peaceful.”  

“The Sandhobbit does this every night?” Pippin asked, wide-eyed.

Bilbo nodded firmly before hurriedly continuing, already anticipating the next question. “Many children have stayed awake night after night trying to catch a glimpse of the Sandhobbit, but he wishes to remain hidden. Only the Elves have seen him. They told me so, when I met them.”

“Ohhh,” Pippin whispered, awe-struck. “Do the Elves give him the magic sand?”

“No, the Sandhobbit must go all the way to the Sea, and walk along the shore to find it. I think,” Bilbo added, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “that the Sandhobbit is a Took. You remember the story of Isengar, don’t you, Pippin?”

“He went to Sea!” Pippin replied with a grin. “Do you think he found the magic sand first, Bilbo?”

“I am certain of it,” Bilbo replied with a smile as Pippin yawned. “And now I think it is time for you to go to sleep. You wouldn’t want to miss a visit from the Sandhobbit, would you?”

Pippin shook his head and smiled as he hopped down from Bilbo’s lap.

“Come along, then,” Bilbo said, taking Pippin’s hand and leading him to the door. “Frodo? It’s time for bed.”

There was no reply, and when Bilbo and Pippin turned they found Frodo drooling onto the cushions, fast asleep.