Proper Beginnings by Dreamflower
Sam and Marigold have a business proposition for Lily Cotton...

AUTHOR: Dreamflower
RATING: G
CATEGORY: General
SUMMARY: Sam and Marigold have a business proposition for Lily Cotton.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: [1] Marigold gave a list of four categories of elements for each writer to choose from. I chose the following:
Category one: A sibling
Category two: A business venture
Category three: A farm
Category four: A baker
[2] This story takes place in S.R. 1411. Sam and Tom are 31, Marigold is 28, Rose is 27, and the Gaffer will be 85. (20, 18, 17 and about 64 in Man-years)
DISCLAIMER: Middle-earth and all its peoples belong to the Tolkien Estate. I own none of them. Some of them, however, seem to own me.

STORY #2

PROPER BEGINNINGS

“Sam?” Marigold asked her brother hesitantly, as they walked the road from Hobbiton to nearby Bywater, “do you think Missus Lily will go along with our idea?”

Sam shrugged. “There’s naught we can do but ask, Mari. But she’s a good sort, and I think she’s fond of the Gaffer. And it only makes sense to try.”

Marigold nodded. The Gaffer would soon be eighty-five--not especially elderly for a hobbit, but a good respectable age nonetheless.

Their father wasn’t one to make a fuss over his birthday like some folk were; he’d have a few presents to give away, but he’d not be expecting anything for himself. Yet most years he was used to at least having some of his older children with him, and a nice family dinner with the grandchildren on his knee. Halfred of course could not come--he had moved to the Northfarthing to be near his wife‘s family last summer, and it meant he would be doing well to visit once every two or three years now. The Gaffer had not said much about it, but when Sam read him the letter from Hamson, saying that there was an important and especially large order for rope and they could not get away from Tighfield this year, his father’s face had fallen briefly, before he said gruffly “Just as well; t’ old hole gets crowded, what with all them noisy younglings here.”

May and her husband Tam Tunnelly were in Overhill, and expecting their first child--she was too close to her time to venture even as near as Hobbiton. Daisy, who still lived in Hobbiton, stopped by to say she would be going to stay with her sister until the baby was delivered, and her husband Finch was taking their daughter with him to visit his family in Michel Delving, and so they could not be at home for the Gaffer’s birthday either.

The Gaffer was clearly disappointed. He said nothing, but there was no spring in his step, and he avoided even talking about the upcoming day. Usually he was busy making or finding the small gifts he gave, but this year there was no sign of that usual activity--one in which his youngest two children often conspired with him.

So Sam and Marigold had discussed it, and decided that it was up to the two of them to make the day memorable for their father.

“Since we can’t have family, we’ll have friends instead. We’ll throw a regular party for our old Dad,” said Sam. “I’ll speak to Mr. Frodo, about having it in the Party Field, and we’ll invite the Twofoots, and Widow Rumble and the Longholes and the Cottons…”

Marigold grinned. “The Cottons! Sam, why don’t we ask Missus Lily to make him a birthday cake?”

Sam bit his lip, he hated to dash his sister’s hopes. “I don’t know, Mari-lass. Missus Lily gets a nice penny for making them sorts of cakes. I don’t know as we could pay her what it would be worth. And it wouldn’t be right to expect her to make it out of friendship--she might offer, but it just wouldn’t be proper.” Lily Cotton was a skilled baker of fancy cakes; she had worked for her uncle who was a baker in Michel Delving as a lass, and might even have apprenticed to him if she had been a lad. But she had chosen to wed Tom Cotton instead, and used her baking skills from time to time to earn a bit of extra coin for the family.

“Well, mayhap we can think of something we could do in exchange, Sam. I’m sure *that* would be proper!” Marigold laughed delightedly. “It will be a splendid party, Sam! Just like Mr. Bilbo’s!”

Now Sam laughed. “Glory and trumpets, Marigold! I hope not--we don’t need our Gaffer vanishing in a puff of smoke! And he wouldn’t think it proper to have a party that grand anyway--we’re not gentry, nor anything like it. But for once in his life he can have a party that’s just right for him!”

So they were making their way to the Cotton farm, in hopes of laying their idea before Mrs. Cotton. They were on the outskirts of Bywater now, and they turned south onto the lane that led to the Cotton’s farm.

They passed Farmer Cotton and his sons working in the fields, and waved, receiving a greeting in return, and soon came to the rambling farmhouse that served the family instead of a smial.

Mrs. Cotton was sitting on her front step shelling peas, and gave a cheery welcome to the Gamgees. “Sam! Marigold! Whatever brings you to Bywater?” She stood up and brushed her skirts, shifting the basket of peas under her arm. “Do come in and have somewhat to drink--and eat--it’s nigh time for elevenses!” She led the way to the sunny kitchen, and put the basket on the table.

“So--you haven’t told me yet why the pleasure of a visit!” she said, sitting down at the table with them, after setting out a pitcher of apple juice and a plate of biscuits. Marigold looked at Sam. It had been her idea, but now it came to it, she was almost afraid to ask.

Sam took a deep breath. “Missus Lily, we were wondering if mayhap there was somewhat we could do for you, in exchange for you making our old Gaffer a birthday cake? Seeing as none of the others can come home for his birthday this year, Mari and me hope to have a party for him. And your family’s invited, of course.”

“Why Sam! I’d make the cake for him anyway, you know that!”

“Well, but Missus Lily, we want it to be a gift from us. And it wouldn’t sit well with him if he thought you were put out any on his account. You know that.”

Lily nodded. She did indeed know Hamfast’s stubborn pride. She pursed her lips and thought for a moment. “Sam, my herb bed is a right mess this year--I had little time at the beginning of spring to keep it up, what with that wedding cake I had to make for the Boffins. And now it’s clean got away from me. My mint’s running wild, and my savory and my sage aren’t looking too good. The parsley’s yellow. And my rosemary needs *something*--it’s looking all grey and dry, in spite of getting water. Do you think you could set it in order for me, one day soon?”

Sam nodded. “I could. Mr. Frodo gives me the whole of Highday off twice a month. I can come down this Highday next and spend the day working on it for you. I’ll take a look at it today, and see what it needs.”

Marigold felt a bit less shy now that Sam had put their idea forward. “Is there anything *I* can do, Missus Lily?”

Lily nodded. “There’s a bumper crop of brambleberries this year. If you could come with Sam on Highday, Rose and me would welcome your help putting up the jam.”

“I can do that!” Marigold grinned. Rose was her best friend, and it would be a lot of fun to help her and her mother in the kitchen.

Just then the kitchen door opened, and a familiar voice sang out “I’ve taken all the sheets down, Ma, but the towels have yet to be dry enough!”

Sam and Marigold looked toward the back door. Marigold jumped up to take the laundry basket from Rose, and give her friend a hug.

Sam stared as though pole-axed. He had expected to see little Rosie Cotton, his friend Tom’s baby sister, who had teased him and been teased by him ever since she was a faunt. Instead, he found himself gazing at a lovely lass who seemed to glow with the sunlight. She was a bit flushed and sweaty, and her hair, which had been piled atop her head to keep it off her neck in the heat, had escaped in tendrils that hung about her face. She was smiling and laughing with joy at seeing Marigold, which was good, for Sam could not have spoken if his life depended on it.

When had she grown up? The last time he had seen her, sometime early in the year, she had still that coltish and awkward look of a young tween.

No longer.

He heard a throat clear next to him, and jumped, looking to see Lily Cotton gazing at him with unfathomable amusement. He blushed to the tips of his ears.

“Will you and Marigold stay to lunch, Sam?” she asked, a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.

Sam gulped. Had she noticed him gawking at her daughter? “Er--no, thanks, Missus Lily. We ought to get ourselves home, thank you!”

He rather hustled Marigold away, and she was cross. “Sam, whatever’s got into you? We could’ve stayed to lunch! I wanted to visit a bit with Rosie!”

“I just remembered some things as I need to get done, that’s all,” he said, rather unconvincingly. “ ‘Sides, you’ll be here all day on Highday! You can visit then!”

He stopped briefly to inspect Mrs. Cotton’s herb bed. She was right, it really was a mess, and it would be a job of work. That made Sam feel better, knowing as she wasn’t just finding any old job for him to do, just so she could make the Gaffer’s cake. Looked like the poor rosemary had died--it was potted, and had gone all root-bound. He’d bring her a couple of nice plants from home--they had more rosemary than they knew what to do with anyway. And the mint needed to be moved to a bed of its own. Yes, it was a real job, and it would be worth the price of the cake.

Marigold tapped her foot impatiently. If she could not stay and visit Rose, she wanted to go on home.

Rose.

Sam sighed. Rose.
_______________________________________

They had been to the Cottons on Monday. On Trewsday, when Sam joined Frodo in the Bag End kitchen for second breakfast, he brought up the subject.

“Why, Sam! Of course you may use the Party Field! We could make it a splendid party! I could--”

“Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo,” Sam hated to interrupt when his master looked so happy and enthusiastic, but it wouldn’t do to let him get all carried away. He could be quite as Tookish as old Mr. Bilbo had been, sometimes. “--but we just want a small party. The Gaffer wouldn’t like no one to think he’s putting on airs. It’ll be just our good neighbors here on the Hill, and the Cottons from Bywater, and mayhap a few of my dad’s friends from The Ivy Bush. We just don’t want him to feel forgot, since my brothers and older sisters can’t be here.”

Frodo sighed, but nodded. Sam was right, Hamfast Gamgee would be appalled at a spectacle of a party such as Bilbo had been fond of. Then he brightened up. He’d thought of something. “When *is* his birthday, then, Sam?”

“It’s Sunday week. It gives us whole week and a half to get everything done.”

“Very well, then, I shall leave it all up to you. But you must promise to tell me if there is anything I can do!”

“I will, Mr. Frodo. The best as you can do, though is to just come to the party and have a good time.”

“Thank you, Sam! I most certainly will!” But there were some letters he needed to write. A week and a half--it should be enough time.
__________________________________________

On Highday, Till Twofoot, Daddy Twofoot’s grandson, had to go to market in Bywater, so he gave Sam and Marigold a lift in the waggon. Till’s grandfather and the Gaffer were already ensconced at The Ivy Bush, where they’d spend the day playing draughts and gossiping and smoking.

Sam had with him a small crate, containing a couple of new rosemary plants, and some new starts of parsley, sage, savory, tarragon and a few other plants as he had noticed Missus Lily either did not have or that were not in the sort of condition he thought proper. This would be an interesting job of work, he thought. He smiled. It was a shame that Mr. Merry wasn’t here. He and Master Pippin had finished their visit at the end of Thrimidge, but Mr. Merry was fond of herbs--he’d’ve had a lot of interest in this. Though, of course, it wouldn’t be proper to let him help with the work, he’d have enjoyed talking the planning of it out with Sam.

Till let the two of them out at the beginning of the lane, and then Sam and Marigold made their way to the farmhouse.

Lily was pleased to see them. There were baskets and buckets of brambleberries all over the kitchen, which was already warm from the heat of the stove. She gave Marigold a kiss on the cheek, and gave her an apron, and sent her over by Rose to help in the cleaning of the berries.

Sam stood for a moment, staring at Rose, but her back was to the door, and she did not seem to notice he was there.

“Sam!” Lily said.

He gave a start. Had she been speaking to him?

“I’m sorry Missus Lily,” he said, blushing. “My mind was a-wandering.”

“I noticed.” She shook her head, smiling in a way that made Sam blush even more. “I just wanted to let you know that I told Tom off to help you today. His dad’s at market, and he’s not needed in the fields today, so he can give you a hand with whatever’s needed. Just tell him what you want done.”

Sam grinned. “Thanks, Missus Lily!” It would be grand to have Tom’s help--not that he really needed help for the job, but because now that they were very nearly of age, the two of them had all too little time for visiting or talking.

He picked up the little crate, which he had put down by the step, and headed to the herb garden. Tom was already there, sitting on top of one of the logs that bordered the bed. Several tools--spades, rakes, hoes and a barrow--were ranged nearby. He gave Sam a broad grin, and stood up.

“I’m that glad to see you, Sam! It’s been a long while!”

Sam grinned back, and said, “Well, it’ll be good to have a body to talk to while I’m working, anyhow!” He sat the crate down, and took a look once more at the bed. “We need to dig out the plants. We can save the betony, the bee balm, the dill and the chives. I think the chamomile looks all right, and the thyme is looking just fine. The lavender is thriving. The mint is thriving all too well. We’ll need to root all of it out, and give it a bed of its own.” He looked about him, and then pointed to a small nearby tree. “We’ll put the good plants over there in the shade, till their new home’s ready for ‘em. We need to be sure they keep plenty of soil around their roots when we take them out. Then we’ll dig in the old mulch, and add a small barrow load of compost--shouldn’t need much; herbs don’t generally take to rich soil, but this bed needs *some* at any rate. And after we get the plants back in and well watered, we’ll spread some clean hay mulch around them.”

Tom nodded, and they quickly got to work.

There was no stinting, but they worked at a leisurely pace, enjoying the chance for a bit of gossip. Tom wanted to hear all about what Mr. Frodo had been up to, and about Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin’s spring visit. He’d met them a few times, and when they were much younger, they both had come out to the farm with Sam a few times to play with the Cotton lads. Of course, now they were too old for such, but Tom remembered them fondly.

“Has Master Pippin slowed down any since he’s been a tween?” Tom asked, grinning.

“Not so’s I could notice,” replied Sam wryly. “He fair wears Mr. Frodo out sometimes, though he don’t make a body dizzy just to watch him so much anymore.” Sam stopped briefly to wipe his brow with a kerchief. The day was drawing on toward elevenses, and getting a bit warm. “Master Pippin was asking about your cousin Rusty--but I’d not heard anything of her lately!”

Tom laughed. “That lass! Uncle Wil and Aunt Aster are about at their wit’s end with her. Aunt Aster’s decided that since she’s a tween now, it’s time to put away the lad’s clothes altogether. She got so mad, she took Rusty’s breeches out and burned them. The next day, Rufus woke up to find that his everyday trousers was gone, and Rusty had took off. Uncle Wil caught her before she’d got too far, and now the plan is to send her to Great-Aunt Jasper in Gamwich!”

“Gamwich!” Sam exclaimed. “That’s clear to the edge of the Shire almost! It‘s the other side of Tighfield!”

“I know,” said Tom. They stopped talking for a few moments, as Sam checked the state of the bed. It really was quite warm, and by mutual consent the two lads shed their shirts, before they began the task of raking in the compost.

Both of them jumped a few minutes later, however, at the sound of giggles. Turning, they saw Rose and Marigold standing there staring at them. The lads blushed, and first Sam, and then Tom, grabbed their shirts and put them back on hastily.

Marigold had a pitcher, and Rose had a basket. “Ma sent us out with your elevenses!” Rose said.

“Th-thanks!” stuttered Sam, gaping, as the two lasses went back to the house, their heads together, giggling.

Tom said nothing; he just stared.

Sam stared himself, until the lasses entered the back door, and then he turned to look at the basket, and more importantly, to check the pitcher, for he suddenly realized he was very thirsty. “Small beer!”* Sam exclaimed. “There are mugs in the basket, Tom. Do you want a ham sandwich or a stuffed egg first?” he asked.

Tom didn’t answer. He was still staring at the house.

“Tom!” exclaimed Sam, perplexed.

Tom gave a start. “I’m sorry Sam! What did you say?”

“I think the heat’s gone to your brain, you daft goose! Elevenses!”

Tom grinned suddenly and turned to look at the basket as well, and soon the two lads were seated on the ground, eating and drinking. As is the way of hobbits, they at first talked about the food as they ate--the ham was honey-cured and quite excellent--but they both fell into a distracted silence soon enough.

“Sam?” Tom’s voice broke in the middle of saying Sam’s name--something it had not done in many a year. He cleared his throat. “Sam? How old is Marigold?”

Sam was surprised he asked. “You know that--she’s eight months older’n Jolly and--” Sam’s own voice faltered. “Rosie,” he continued in a quieter tone. He looked at Tom again, struck by an amazing possibility. Had he himself looked this daft the other day to Missus Lily? If he had, no wonder she’d been giving him funny looks. His eyes turned again to the farmhouse’s back door. He wet his lips and cleared his throat to continue. “She’ll be having of her own birthday after Lithe.”

“Oh.”

A silence fell once more, and then Sam gathered up all his courage. “Tom?”

“Yes, Sam?”

Sam bit his lip and then blurted out “Would you mind a lot if I was to step out wi’ your sister?”

Now it was Tom’s turn to gawk. “Rosie?” he asked incredulously.

Sam nodded. “You’ve only the one sister so far’s I know, Tom.” He kept his eyes down, and avoided looking at his friend. He didn’t think it would be so, but it could be very awkward if Tom did say he minded.

There was another silence, this one not so comfortable as usual, before Tom said quietly, “I don’t guess I’d mind much if you didn’t mind me asking to step out wi’ *your* sister.”

The joy that lifted Sam’s heart was sharp and sudden, and he felt like leaping up and laughing aloud. Instead, he said mischievously “Which sister? Their husbands might object, you know!” he chuckled.

Tom laughed and punched him in the shoulder. “You ninnyhammer! I mean Marigold of course!”

Sam looked at his friend in delight. “I think it would be downright splendid, Tom, if you was to be courting my sister. I’m not sure what the Gaffer’d say, though” he added honestly.

Tom sobered. “No more am I sure of what my dad’d say to you seeing Rose. I think Ma would be glad of it, though. She likes you, Sam.”

Remembering Missus Lily’s secretive smiles, Sam felt quite confident that Tom was right. And he was glad to realize that if she were on his side, then the old farmer was unlikely to make very many objections. He was less certain of the Gaffer. He had to be honest, and admit that if it had been any other lad than Tom asking to court his little sister--the baby of his family and the darling of the Gamgee clan--he himself would have bristled mightily at the thought of some lad walking about with his sister hand-in-hand.

Perhaps he could do his own persuading of their father. Marigold *was* getting to the age when courting often began--though it would be a good five years before she came of age--and perhaps Sam could make the Gaffer see that it would be a good thing if she formed an attachment now to a good hobbit like Tom. It would keep the other, not so suitable, lads away.

“Thing is--” Tom’s voice broke into Sam’s thoughts, “whatever our parents say, what do you think Rosie and Mari will say?”

There *was* that. Both lads stared at the back door again for a moment, and then in unspoken agreement, cleaned up the crumbs of their meal, downed the last of the small beer, and returned to their work.

They didn’t talk so much this time, but Sam soon raised his voice in jolly song:

“A hobbit of habit was Nob o’ the Lea;
A hobbit of habit was he, was he…”**

And Tom quickly joined in.

By the time they were summoned in for lunch, the main herb bed had been neatly re-planted, with the new plants and old tucked in amidst clean hay mulch. Sam had marked out a small area in which they would plant the mint. “What we’re going to do is break the bottom out of this crate I brought. We’ll sink it in the ground, and leave the top board out as an edging. Then it will keep the mint contained, keep it from taking over the garden, as it were.”

Tom thought it a rather clever plan, and it would not take them much more of the afternoon to finish, after lunch was over. The two lads stopped at the well, and drew up a bucket to wash their faces and hands before going in to eat.

Lily had put out a cold luncheon. Aside from the weather being hot, she and Rose and Marigold had a good deal too much work with putting up the berries to be worrying about cooking a hot meal. This did not mean, however, that she had not laid a lavish table: there was more of the honey-cured ham; cold roasted chicken; bread rolls; more stuffed eggs; mushroom pasties; two kinds of cheese--a hard, aged sharp yellow cheese, and a soft and creamy white fresh cheese; summer sausage; pickles; a salad of young greens, dressed with a tart-sweet dressing, and to drink, there were pitchers of small beer, apple juice, and cold milk. The only thing that was warm was a brambleberry cobbler, made from some of the berries being put up--fresh and fragrant from the oven.

While old Tom and Jolly were still absent, young Nick and Nibs were there, along with the Cotton’s hired hobbit, Mat Brownlock. Mat had been supervising the younger Cotton lads in the task of cleaning the barn. The two were regaling the older hobbits with an account of how the litter of spring kittens was making life miserable for the Cotton’s old terrier.

“Poor Spotty lays down to take a bit of a nap, and suddenly she has half a dozen of them climbing all over her,” Nick chuckled.

Nibs laughed aloud. “And she daren’t wag her tail, for they try to catch it!”

Rose and Marigold sat together at one end of the table, whispering and giggling together. Sam and Tom applied themselves to their meal, and studiously avoided looking at the lasses at all.

Until, at one point the giggling stopped, and Sam happened to look up, just in time to catch Rose’s eyes with his own. He heard his heart pounding in his chest, and time seemed to stop. Her eyes grew wide. She made a little “o” of surprise with her mouth, and unaccountably blushed, before suddenly looking down again.

Suddenly, Sam felt very happy indeed. He could feel himself grinning foolishly, and he, too, looked down at his plate, and suddenly found great interest in its contents.

When lunch was ended, Sam and Tom returned to the mint bed, taking only an hour to get it finished. Lily came out to see the work, and was most impressed.

“Sam, this is beautiful! This old mess of herbs never looked this good before--why this is as good as a picture!”

Sam blushed at the praise, and felt gratified. In spite of the hard work, he’d enjoyed himself very much.

“Well, it’s most certainly worth the price of a cake, lad! And Rose and I could never have finished with putting up all that jam without Marigold’s help--why we’d *still* be at it!” She patted Sam on the back in a motherly fashion. “I look forward to seeing your Gaffer’s face when we surprise him. We’ll see you in the Party Field a week from tomorrow, and I will bring the cake with me then.”
___________________________________________

On the following Highday, after supper, Sam and Marigold presented their father with his gifts. Marigold gave him a jar of the brambleberry jam which she had helped to put up, and Sam presented him with a small pouch of leaf--Old Toby, in fact, a far dearer pipe-weed than the Gaffer’s usual Southfarthing blend.

He seemed pleased with their gifts, though he was heard to mutter darkly “At least there’s *some* as don’t forget their old dad on his birthday…” Neither Sam nor Marigold saw fit to notice. They knew that he didn’t really mean it, and that he knew his older children would have been there if they could.

He seemed in a much better mood the following morning. Marigold dished up a nice first breakfast of porridge, scones and tea. The Gaffer opened his new jar of jam, and shared it out with his youngest children, before passing them his gifts to them.

For Marigold, there was a new hair-ribbon, in a lovely golden yellow color, and for Sam he had whittled a new dibble. There on the old sideboard stood a few bottles of the Gaffer’s home-brew, and a basket of some of his finest cabbages and cucumbers, meant as gifts for various friends.

Just then, there was a rap on the door. Sam and Marigold looked at one another--who could it be? The guests knew they were to go straight to the Party Field, though Sam was still wondering what excuse they would give to the Gaffer to get him over there.

Sam answered the door.

“Mr. Frodo!” he exclaimed. “And--Mr. Merry? Master Pippin?” Sam was puzzled. Those two had gone to the Great Smials only a few weeks before--what were they doing back in Hobbiton so soon? But he stepped aside, and they entered Number Three.

“Good morning, Sam! We came to wish your father joy of the day.”

“Why, good day to ye, Mr. Frodo,” said the Gaffer coming forward. “I thank ‘ee!”

Frodo had a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes. “I know I’ve left it rather late, but I am afraid the packages did not arrive until this morning. I have a birthday gift for you, and I hope, as it is not yet noon, you will take no offense!”

“O’ course not, Mr. Frodo!” Old Hamfast was mightily puzzled, especially as Mr. Frodo did not seem to be carrying anything.

Frodo looked down at Pippin. “Pip? Would you mind fetching the Gaffer’s gifts along for me?”

Pippin grinned widely. “I don’t mind at all,” he said, and went back out, only to open the door almost immediately, ushering in two small lads of about seven and nine years of age.

The Gaffer’s jaw dropped, and Sam and Marigold stared, before the two little ones ran over and hugged the old byrding soundly. “Happy Birthday, Gaffer!” squealed the older child.

“Andred? Erling?” He gathered them up in his arms, and then looked up at Frodo. “How, Mr. Frodo?”

“When Sam told me that Hamson couldn’t bring the family home this year, I wrote, and asked if we provided a proper escort could not at least the two younger lads come to visit their grandfather. Merry, Pippin and my cousin Pearl went to Tighfield to get them, and then Merry and Pippin brought them from Tuckborough to here. Their father has written to say if they behave themselves they may stay a month. He was sorry he could not spare Holman, but he does need his help with the work. He sent this letter.”

Frodo proffered the letter, and Sam took it and opened it, scanning it quickly. He’d read it aloud later, when the family had more privacy. “Dad, Hamson says that he expects to finish up this large order in a month, and then he and Violet and Holman will come along to visit a bit, and fetch the lads home. And he says ‘Happy Birthday‘!”

A great smile lit the old hobbit’s usually gruff face, and he invited Frodo and his cousins in. They shared a cup of tea with the family, and nibbled on scones, as the two children sat by their grandfather and regaled him with an account of their journey.

“Mithter Merry and Mith Pearl and Mithter Pippin brought us in a *coach*!” lisped little Andred, who was missing a number of baby teeth.

“And we stayed the night at Mr. Pippin and Miss Pearl’s smial, Gaffer!” exclaimed Erling. “Did you know their dad is the *Thain*?”

Hamfast looked up quite sharply at Mr. Frodo at this, for it was hardly proper for his grandsons to be staying the night at Great Smials. But Frodo just gave him back an amused smile, and lifted an eyebrow, just daring him to object. Somehow he couldn’t find it in his heart to do so. He gave both the little lads a squeeze, and said, “That sounds mighty interesting. And I hope you minded your manners!”

After a few more minutes, Frodo and his cousins left to return to Bag End, and Marigold set to preparing second breakfast--this time with enough for two hungry little ones.

Meanwhile, Sam had been wracking his brain, trying to think of something, and finally he had it. “Gaffer, I noticed t’other day that some nettles has taken root out in the Party Field. I know they are right useful plants, but I don’t think as that’s the best place for them to be growing, not with so many young ones playing there and such. Could you walk out there with me before elevenses, mayhap give me some idea as to what to do about ‘em?”

“O’ course, Sam. We can walk over there right after we eat, and mayhap the little lads would like to come along.” He looked at his grandsons dotingly. He did well to see them two or three times a year. He sighed. Tighfield was far enough away, and now Halfred was even further off in the Northfarthing. Ah well, this was better than he had begun to hope for this year--his little grandsons on his knee! And thanks to Mr. Frodo, who in many ways was an even more considerate and thoughtful Master than Mr. Bilbo had been, and that was going some. Though really--them staying the night in the Great Smials was hardly proper!

As the little group of Gamgees headed toward the Party Tree, Hamfast could not help but notice a number of folk were there already. He puzzled over it--he’d not heard of anything planned there for today--no weddings or such, that he knew of--

Why there was his old gossip, Daddy Twofoot, with his son and daughter-in-law, and his grandson young Till. And wasn’t that the Widow Rumble and her niece? And there was Mr. Frodo and his cousins--and what in the world were the Cottons doing there. Then he noticed the table, which had been half-hidden by the Party Tree, and a sneaking suspicion entered his mind.

He cast an indignant look at Sam, who was trying real hard to look innocent.

Sure enough, as soon as he began to get closer, the hobbits came together, and shouted “Happy Birthday!”

He stopped in his tracks and glared at Sam. “What’s all this, then?”

Sam at least had the decency to blush, but he stood his ground. “Mari and me thought you deserved to have a proper birthday party for once! And you can see all your friends agree.”

Hamfast tried to suppress the smile that was threatening to break out. “Aye,” he said in a grudging tone, “I suppose it won’t hurt none if you don’t make a habit of it.”

He was soon the target of back-slapping well wishers. “Now this ain’t right! Sam--all them presents are back at Number Three!”

Sam laughed. He was relieved that his father was taking it well. Truth be told, he hadn’t been any too sure which way the wind would blow. But having the little lads there had mellowed his old Dad considerable. “That’s all right, Dad,” he said. “Tom! Come and help me fetch the presents he wants to give out.”

“I’ll give you a hand as well, Sam,” said Merry.

The Gaffer frowned slightly at that. Frodo’s Brandybuck cousin was the heir to Buckland, and hadn’t ought to be fetching things for the likes of Hamfast Gamgee, but he didn’t say anything, and the three young hobbits trotted back to the Gamgee smial.

Naturally, he went over to get a look at the table with the food, and when he saw what had pride of place, his eyes went wide. “Lily Cotton!” he exclaimed sternly. “Are you wasting a cake on me now?”

“ ‘T was not a waste at all, Hamfast Gamgee!” she shot back firmly, “And before you say more about it, Sam and Marigold paid for it fair and square with a day’s hard labor from each of them. And it were *real* work, too, you stubborn old fool, so don’t you go thinking they took advantage of friendship.”

“Well, I would hope I taught them better than that,” he mumbled, abashed. Lily was a sensible sort, and truthful as well, so he’d no call not to believe her.

Soon Sam, Merry and Tom had returned, and the Gaffer noticed that there were a few more bottles and a few more vegetables in the basket than what he’d set out that morn. Just as well--he’d not planned on gifting so many folk.

A few hobbits took advantage of the fact that it was not yet noon to present the Gaffer with a few last minute gifts, and then the movement began to the food table for elevenses. The cake would not be touched until after lunch, however.

The guest of honor found himself seated on a blanket with the older Cottons, Mr. Frodo, and Mr. Merry. Master Pippin and Dandelion Rumble, the Widow’s niece, both had fiddles, young Nibs had a flute, and Till Twofoot had a tambour--soon they had struck up a lively tune, and hobbits rushed to form sets and dance. Hamfast was enjoying watching them. A lively circle dance gave way to Happy Hob, which was danced by couples.

“Well, well, well,” said Frodo.

Merry grinned. “Would you look at that?”

The Gaffer’s eyebrows climbed as he watched Sam claim young Rosie, and as they skipped joyfully along to the measure of the dance, their eyes never left one another’s for an instant. It was as though there were no other hobbits there. Hamfast was reminded sharply of his Bell.

Lily laughed. “Sam and Rosie’s not the only ones. Look!” she gestured with her chin, and he spotted young Tom and Marigold--his baby Marigold!--with their heads close together as they swung the turns of the dance. Why, his little lass was only--twenty-eight? He looked again. When had she grown up? Well, she was a long way from getting wed. Daisy had talked him into letting her wed before she was of age, but he’d made his mind up none of his other daughters were going to do that. But still--Marigold could do a lot worse than young Tom, who looked thoroughly besotted.

His eyes were caught once more by Sam and Rose. Those two were beyond besotted--it was as though they were meant for each other.

Suddenly a happy thought occurred to him. “Double cousins,” he said.

Old Tom pursed his lips. “Not for a few years yet,” he said grimly.

“O’ course not!” replied the Gaffer. “I brought mine up to have good hobbit sense!”

Lily elbowed her husband. “And ours are very sensible as well. But if it falls out the way it looks, that can’t be but a good thing.”

No, thought Hamfast, it looked to be a very good thing indeed. And, as he watched his little grandsons run about with some of the other children, he couldn’t help but feel he’d had a very good birthday after all.
___________________________________________

*”Small beer” was a popular drink in the Middle Ages. It had a very low alcohol content, and was a good thirst quencher. It was often the beverage served to women and children, and was given to workers, who needed to finish their work and keep a clear head.

** “Nob O’ the Lea” talechallenge09