”Come away from the window now, Gaffer,” Rosie said as she took hold of the old hobbit’s shoulders. “They’ll be back soon enough.” She looked out the window herself at the group of hobbits leaving the yard and marching down the road. Sam looked so wonderful riding at the head of the group with Mr. Frodo and his cousins. She brought her thoughts back to the Gaffer.

“Least we know where ‘tis they’re heading this time. Lotho won’t be able to trick them. They’ll be settin’ him ta rights.”

Ham shrugged her hands off his shoulders. “I can turn m’self about, lass. I’m no faunt needin’ ta be took hold of and placed where ya wish it.” But he let her hand, now gently placed in the middle of his back, guide him to the rocker by the fire. He sighed as he lowered his aching bones into the chair. No denying that it was more comfortable beside the fire, nor that he was feeling his after-luncheon-nap starting to creep over him.

How strange it all seemed. He had said he was no faunt, needing to be watched over . . . and yet. He chuckled softly. Wasn’t that the way of it? Isn’t that how life goes?

“First ya be needin’ watched o’re nigh all the time and takin’ lots o’ naps.” his voice said in his
thoughts. “Then ya be the one doing the watchin’ and never nappin’. Then yer back to bein’ the one they be keeping an eye on whilst yer nappin’.”

Then there was this having your hearing start to go amiss. He chuckled again. He knew full well he was the one with a problem, but it was just so much fun riling up the younger folk by telling them to stop their mumbling. Ham smiled as he sighed. He often heard more than he chose to show. Again, as though he were a child, his grown children seemed to think there were things he shouldn’t know. He learned a great deal letting them think his hearing was worse than it was.

The Gaffer squinted a bit to see as far out the window as he could. It didn’t help that he was now all the way across the room from the window.

No. His eyes weren’t what they used to be either. But that hadn’t been the reason he’d needed a moment to recognize Sam last night. How was he supposed to know his son, with Sam all dressed up so oddly and with only the light from a candle in that shack they’d put him into?

Sam, all dressed like folks in those story books Mr. Bilbo would let the lad borrow.

Sam, in an iron weskit and cloth as fine as that on young Mr. Frodo and his cousins.

He continued to stare out the window, though his eyes were slowly closing. They had just come back from fighting a battle. A battle in the Shire. Hamfast shivered at that thought. But pride quickly warmed him. His son was leading hobbits of Bywater to gain back Bag End. To gain back Mr. Frodo’s home. And his home. And the Shire.