Yule at Tuckborough

Pippin could never bear to leave anyone out at Yuletide. And so it was that Eglantine followed her tiny son’s muddy footsteps out of the Great Smials, into the cold December snow. There she saw Pippin, wrapped in a warm coat and knitted scarf and hat, holding his mittened hand out to a bird on a tree. The bird was eying him curiously.
“Here you go! It’s gingerbread. Everyone likes gingerbread,” Pippin said.
The red bird pecked at the tiny hand, stealing the crumbs and flying away quickly.
“Happy Yule!” Pippin bugled after it, grinning, and Eglantine’s heart was glad.