There was a commotion.  I turned and looked back. The hobbit ran and caught up with us.  What had prompted him to change his mind?  He came, even though he said no. The Company smiled and joked at his lateness.

“Looks like Mr. Bilbo’s signature is in order,” Balin said to me.

“Get him a pony,” I replied.

The hobbit was reluctant to ride the pony, even more reluctant to leave without a handkerchief.  I scoffed; we would need more than handkerchiefs in the wild.