Chapter 17. Rocks and Stones 

Ted did not come to dinner that day, and the next he was “off again”, or so Beryl said, coming from the market with a brace of rabbits for stewing.

 ‘North Farthing, this time,’ she added, and giggled at the face Mardi made.

 ‘And what’s the matter with that?’ Woodruff asked, handing him the gathering basket. ‘Young and tender nettles, now, none of the old and stringy ones, mind!’

 ‘Never been to the North Farthing,’ Mardi admitted, ‘but I hear it’s cold there.’

 ‘In the wintertime, perhaps,’ Beryl told him. ‘The wind sweeps across the land,’ she shivered deliciously, ‘and wolves howl, they say, but Da says it’s just as bad to travel there in the warmer months, with all the bogs...’

 ‘I do hope Ted will take care,’ Woodruff murmured, bending to pluck a few spent pansy blossoms from the cracked teapot by the doorway. ‘I shiver whenever Uncle Tru tells that story of the bog that swallowed the road, and he was caught before he realised... had the North-tooks not heard his cries and pulled him out...’

Beryl shivered, herself, before saying briskly, ‘Well, these won’t stew themselves, now, will they? Will ye be back in time for nuncheon, Mardi?’

 ‘I rather doubt it, with the list of plants the Mistress has asked for,’ the apprentice said, affecting gloom.

 ‘Poor lad!’ Beryl laughed. ‘I’ll keep a plate warm, then...’

 ‘Off wi’ ye,’ Woodruff said, giving Mardi a little push, ‘before I think of more plants to add to the list!’

Laughing, the apprentice took himself off, bowing a greeting to Mira Took who was just approaching. She looked after him thoughtfully before greeting Woodruff and Beryl and getting down to the business of planning for the morrow. Woodruff was invited to Whittacres Farm, for little Peregrin’s seventh birthday, just as she and Sweetbriar had been invited every year previously.

 ‘They always have a birthday breakfast in that family, so they’ll be coming to fetch you early,’ Mira reminded, as if Woodruff hadn’t been to six previous birthday celebrations. ‘Beryl, I want you to come to me, first thing, for we’re all going berrying and then there’ll be the jam-making afterwards.’

 ‘May Mardi come?’ Beryl said, ‘...or will you have set more tasks for him, in your absence, Sweetie?’

 ‘I had thought to leave him, in case a healer is needed,’ Woodruff said. ‘If he were to go berrying, I suppose you could leave a note on the door, that I may be found at Whittacres if the need arises.’

***

When the knock came at the door before the dawning the next day, Woodruff was ready. ‘Don’t you look fine!’ Beryl said, clearing away the half-empty teapot and cups and well-cleared plates she’d laid out, for even if Woodruff were invited to breakfast, she surely could not go out the door without something to go on! ‘That colour brings out your eyes so well, or so Mardi observed to me the last time Mum invited us all to tea...’

 ‘Did he, now?’ Woodruff said, tying the ribbons on her straw hat. She raised her voice to call that she was coming, took a glance in the looking glass, smiled to see the flowers bravely bobbing round the brim, and opened the door to see, not the hired labourer she expected, but Ferdinand Took, wearing a broad grin. Two fine ponies stood tied to the hitching post by the little gate.

 ‘Dinny!’ she said. ‘When did you arrive? I’d heard you were to be delayed...’

 ‘We delivered the latest foursome to the Smials just yesterday,’ Ferdinand said. ‘Mistress Lalia was so very pleased with them that she accepted my excuses for not staying to tea, and so we were able to leave early enough to travel through the Green Hills and not worry about being caught out by nightfall.’

 ‘And so you are at Whittacres for the rest of the summer,’ Woodruff said. ‘And your family?’

 ‘Stelliana’s mother is not well, I’m sorry to say,’ Ferdinand said, sobering. ‘But my beloved would not hear of our staying at home. Dinny has a new crop of ponies to be trained, that he may sell them at the pony market this autumn, and the children would be so dreadfully disappointed to miss their summer on the farm...’

 ‘I’m surprised you did not send your brother instead,’ Beryl said bluntly. If his mother-in-love were that poorly, surely Ferdinand’s place was by his wife’s side.

 ‘He offered,’ Ferdinand said. ‘But in the end it was the children that decided us. With their mother called away, it seemed best that they should come to the farm, where Eglantine and Esmeralda can fuss over them.’ Coming back to the topic at hand, he said, ‘So! Are we ready?’

 ‘Indeed!’ Woodruff said, pulling on her gloves, to protect her hands as she was to be riding pony-back and not on a waggon seat with someone else driving. A healer’s hands, after all, must be carefully kept... She picked up the basket of roses Beryl had cut by lantern-light this morning and said, ‘I’m ready!’

Ferdinand introduced her to the mare, a sweet-faced creature with intelligent eyes and sensitive ears that pricked forward to greet Woodruff. ‘She’s my daughter’s,’ he said proudly. ‘Gentle as a lamb. I was offered a goodly sum for her at the Smials yesterday, but of course I’ll never sell her.’ He helped her into the side-saddle, an awkward way of riding to be sure, but easier to manage than the regular kind of saddle when one was wearing skirts.

The Sun was just rubbing the sleep from her eyes as they rode into the farmyard. Ferdinand helped Woodruff down, to be greeted with hugs by Pearl and Pervinca. Pimpernel was in the kitchen, drizzling icing on the sweet bread whilst her mother finished the eggs and her Aunt Esmeralda fished the last of the bacon from the frying pan.

They’d eat in the formal dining room, this day being a festive event, rather than at the generously-proportioned kitchen table. Snowy linens graced the glowing wood, and all the hobbits paused to admire the feast before bowing to Paladin and then Pippin, who ducked his head with a pleased grin and dug his toe into the polished floorboards, though his eyes were sparkling with delight at being the centre of attention. Woodruff noticed for the grand occasion the lad had been scrubbed within an inch of his life and dressed in clean clothes and his wild crop of curls had been brushed into submission. She wondered how long this state of affairs would last, as she presented her roses to Eglantine, to honour the mother’s contribution to this day. At last, all sat down to eat.

There is not much to tell, save that the talk flew fast and cheerful, comments tumbling over one another like puppies at play, and the food was hot and plentiful and delightful to the eye and palate, and Pippin only spilt his milk twice and dropped three forkfuls upon the snowy tablecloth and one upon his lap. He also spit out a mouthful of milk when his cousin Ferdibrand made him laugh while drinking, but that scarcely bears mentioning. And perhaps it ought to go without saying that Meriadoc Brandybuck bravely and surreptitiously ate the kidneys from his young cousin’s plate, to spare Pippin the trial of doing so himself, while Bilbo distracted all the other grown-ups with a story and Frodo winked at Woodruff. 

In any event, after breakfast was over, Ferdinand excused himself to saddle the ponies, in order to bring the healer safely home. Farewells were said and hugs were given. The birthday lad escorted Woodruff to the yard, and while they were waiting Woodruff dug a small glass jar, containing a beetle, from her pocket and presented it to Pippin.

 ‘Happy birthday, lad,’ she said.

Pippin took the jar with a bright face. ‘Look at the size of him!’ he breathed.

 ‘I thought you’d like him,’ Woodruff said. ‘I thought of you the moment I spotted him in the garden patch.’

 ‘He’s very handsome!’ the lad said, and threw his arms around the healer, though he held tight to the jar.

 ‘You take good care of him, now,’ Woodruff said. ‘Ask your father what to feed him. I’m sure he’ll know.’

 ‘He knows everything!’ Pippin affirmed with enthusiasm. ‘And...’ he said, digging in a pocket, ‘I have a mathom for you!’

 ‘Why, Master Peregrin,’ Woodruff said, touched. ‘You didn’t have to...’

 ‘Yes I did!’ Pippin said firmly. He took a rock from his pocket, just a plain rock, it is true, but Woodruff was wise enough to take it in her hand in a solemn and reverential manner and caress it with a careful finger.

 ‘It’s lovely,’ she said, though of course it was very plain to the eye that cannot see beyond the surface.

 ‘It’s the cream of my collection!’ Pippin said with a nod. ‘I knew you’d like it.’ He lowered his voice and looked about them, before saying earnestly, ‘It comes all the way from the Brandywine River!’

 ‘My goodness!’ Woodruff said, suitably impressed. ‘It is a well-travelled rock, to be sure! I will place it on my windowsill for all to see!’

Just then Ferdinand emerged from the barn with the ponies, and there was only time for another quick hug before the family gathered to sing Woodruff on her way.

***

Merry Brandybuck and Ferdi Took became a common sight around Whitwell, escorting their young cousin Pippin. Sometimes Ferdi’s sister and one or more of Pippin’s sisters would accompany them, and sometimes Frodo Baggins would accompany them. Most often they’d walk from the farm; on market days they’d ride in their father’s or a neighbour’s waggon, helping to unload the waggon at the market square, scattering to sample the wares, to visit friends, to play. They’d gather for the midday meal and scatter again until it was time to load up the waggon and ride homewards, singing.

On one of these days, Ferdi had brought two of his father’s ponies to be shod, and so he and Merry took Pippin to the blacksmith’s. At first the little lad was fascinated, watching, especially when the bellows would coax the fire to red-gold heat. He watched the glowing metal pounded slowly into shape, and jumped when it was plunged, hissing, into the water. Talk was proceeding between the smith and the teens, about the various types of shoes and how they might be shaped to correct a fault in conformation or gait.

The smith put down the shoe he was fashioning and turned away to dig in a chest, pulling out several different samples of his work and beginning a lecture that promised no end, to restless young Pippin’s ears. Merry and Ferdi were riveted...

Three or four little lads Pippin’s age had been hovering in the doorway, watching the smith, and Pippin had exchanged a few pleasantries with them, but now they turned away, seeking diversion. One picked up a stone, tossed it in his palm, and said, ‘Bet I can hit the doorstep, there, right on the corner.’

 ‘Bet you cannot!’ another said promptly, and before Pippin quite realised he was moving down the street with the other urchins, tossing stones at doorsteps and taunting each other’s prowess.

Pippin wasn’t quite sure how it happened, afterwards. He had a good, round stone with a solid heft in his hand, quite satisfactory when his fingers closed around it. He sighted on the latest target, the healer’s doorstep it was, that all the other lads had hit, and drew back his arm.

But as he let fly, one of the lads, pushed by another, jogged against him, spoiling his aim. In the next second a shattering crash was heard, there was a chorus of horrified hisses, and Pippin was left, standing aghast and alone, staring at the damage his stone had done. What had once been a pretty little thistle-flowered teapot with a topping of pansies, standing cheerily at the side of the door, now lay in a ruin of dirt, shattered china and crumpled petals.

 ‘What in the name of...’ he heard from inside the little smial, but something held him rooted to the spot as Woodruff came out of the smial, mortar and pestle in her hands. She looked around, puzzled, before her toe nudged the edge of the little mound of debris.

With an exclamation of grief she crouched, laying down her work, to take up a few shards, dropping them to cradle the battered flowers in her palms.

Seeing tears upon her cheeks, Pippin wanted with all that was in him to run away, to hide in shame, but something forced him forward, step by reluctant step, until he was bending over the healer and the remains of the teapot-planter. He picked up two of the larger shards, trying to puzzle them together, while he whispered, ‘I’m sorry. I’ll fix it. I will!’

Woodruff shook her head, her throat closed with tears.

 ‘I didn’t mean to,’ Pippin said. ‘I was trying to hit the doorstep, and...’ His voice trailed off, for there really was no excuse for what he’d done.

 ‘Go on with you, now, lad,’ Woodruff managed. ‘There’s naught to be done.’

Pippin stood undecided, but she wouldn’t look at him. She was holding the flowers and weeping, and the weeping made him so uncomfortable, and he didn’t know what else to do, and so he backed away and turned to run, arriving back at the stables with the shards still in his hands.

Merry and Ferdi were watching the smith nail shoe to hoof, though Merry turned at Pippin’s step.

 ‘What do you have there, cousin?’ he said.

Pippin flushed and stammered.

 ‘Collecting rubbish?’ Merry said.
 
 ‘It’s not rubbish!’ Pippin cried, and Merry ruffled the little lad’s curls in a friendly manner.

 ‘Of course it’s not,’ he said. ‘But I think you could do better than broken crockery. Tell you what... Ferdi and I will show you how to go birds-nesting tomorrow! You can start a collection of eggs and feathers...’

 ‘Just one of each kind of egg,’ Ferdi warned, his attention drawn from the work of the smith to the conversation. ‘And do throw that rubbish away, Pippin. You cannot be riding behind either of us, clutching broken crockery in hand!’

Pippin turned away as if to do his older cousins’ bidding, but he didn’t throw the shards away; rather he secreted them in his pocket. He’d go back and talk to Woodruff, collect the rest of the teapot, and glue it together somehow.

When he was able to get away from his cousins again for a bit, as they were loading up Paladin’s waggon, he went back to the healer’s smial. The doorstep had been swept clean, and no one answered his knock. Perhaps she was in the back garden... but no one answered his hails, and the back garden was deserted, save the hens picking about in the yard. But there on the rubbish heap...

Pippin collected every shard, tying them up in the overlarge pocket-handkerchief Frodo had tied around his knee, the last time he’d bloodied it; and hearing his father calling his name from the marketplace, he took a secure grip on his guilty treasure and ran to join the others in the waggon.