Chapter 6. In which a young hobbit discovers that naps can be a very useful practice, indeed

Merry stayed close to Uncle Ferdinand for a good part of the morning, not wanting his girl-cousins to include him in any of their diversions, this day. Little Ferdi had much the same idea, staying as close to Merry as a shadow might, almost as if he had some idea of what was in Merry’s head.

How would he get away from the little nuisance? How would he escape the notice of the lasses, for that matter? And then he nodded as the pieces of his planning fell into place.

A nap. Just the thing.

Though he’d freed his mind with the younger lad, the previous day, he had no intention of dragging a sniffle-nosed, wet-bottomed, finger-sucking faunt along on serious business; why, the Mayor would take one look at young Ferdi and call for a nursery maid to carry them back to their mums!

I...!

Hush, Ferdi, he’s well begun...

But... did you hear... he exaggerates so, he’s...

On the contrary, I’m understating the state of affairs, to spare your feelings, cousin!

You expect me to sit still and listen to this?!

(Several voices together) Yes!

Hush now, Ferdi; that’s an order from your Thain.

...I’m... speechless...

Good! Now, Merry...

After second breakfast, Rosemary dragged young Ferdi off for his morning nap, protesting sleepily.

‘Well, Merry-love,’ Esmeralda said with a bright smile. ‘Will you be off to help your “Uncle” with the ponies again? Or would you like me to ask Pearl to read to you, or would you like to walk over to the Bankses with Auntie Stellie and me, for elevenses?’

‘Really, Mum,’ Merry said, affecting a yawn behind his lifted hand even as he rejoiced at the news. His mother would be gone for elevenses! And his Aunt Eglantine would likely not disturb his apparently sleeping form, if she thought him exhausted enough to sleep until the noontide meal—he already knew this, because Ferdi had been allowed an extended morning nap three days earlier. He’d have plenty of time to distance himself from the farm—and searching hobbits. ‘I do think I’ll take myself off for a nap as well.’ He covered his mouth again, fearful that his cousins would see his smirk and become suspicious.

‘Lads worked hard this morning,’ Ferdinand said with an approving nod. ‘Young Merry stood upon a bucket and brushed everything within reach—you ought to see how the ponies shine! He’s got quite a way with the beasts, Ally... make a fine rider someday, I’ve no doubt.’

‘Well, Merry,’ Esmeralda said, hugging her little son. ‘Your father will be so proud to hear that you’ve been a good help.’ She savoured the feel of little arms about her neck and then, with a laugh, put him away. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you at noontide.’

Stelliana appeared in the doorway. ‘Ferdi’s asleep already, the little lamb,’ she said. ‘Will Merry be coming with us, along with the lasses, or will he stay and help Dinny?’

‘He’ll be staying,’ Esmeralda said. ‘A moment, Stellie, and we’ll begin. You’re sure you don’t mind, Aggie?’

Eglantine smiled at her visitors, much too thoughtful to let on how nice it would be to have her kitchen to herself, just for a few hours. She loved visits, truly she did, but the rare quiet of time to herself was a thing to treasure. With nearly everyone out of the smial, and the lasses gone with the visitors to the Bankses’ neighbouring farm, and the little lads asleep, why... she might get some work done on her birthday presents, without anyone the wiser.

And so Merry allowed his mother to escort him to the bed the lads shared, and he laid himself down beside a gently snoring Ferdi, and his mother drew a light covering over him and kissed him tenderly. ‘Sleep tight, my love,’ she said.

‘And you,’ he answered, with a yawn, catching his mistake only when she chuckled. ‘I mean, say hullo to the Bankses for me,’ he said, and his mother patted his back with a soft assent, and rose, and was gone.

Soon the merry voices of the lasses, hushed by Esmeralda’s warning of the “sleeping lads”, had passed the doorway, and the smial fell silent.

Merry pushed his covering aside and arose, creeping on soft hobbit-feet to the doorway. He peered down the hall to the kitchen, but saw no movement. He moved down the hall like a little ghost, and at the kitchen doorway caught a glimpse of Eglantine in her rocking chair, rocking softly, her head bent over her knitting.

That was awkward. He’d secreted bread-and-butter, from breakfast, in a handkerchief in his pocket, but he’d found himself hungry halfway to second breakfast and had devoured it all, while Ferdinand was tying up another pony to be groomed and young Ferdi was peppering his father with questions.

And he’d not had much chance to put away something at second breakfast, though he’d managed to tie up several scones as the lasses were clearing the table. Still, he’d hoped to seize more provision towards the journey.

Ah, well. Michel Delving couldn’t be so very far away. After all, Uncle Paladin and the hired hobbits went there every seventh year, to cast their votes for Mayor at the free fair, and they wouldn’t be leaving the farm and animals and chores for too long a time! (He didn’t know that the Bankses did the Tooks’ chores for them, while they went to vote, and then the Tooks did the same for the Bankses.)

He moved back to the bedroom, taking the pillows from the lasses’ room on his way, and without too much trouble he made the form of a sleeping hobbit lad under the covering, next to Ferdi, with a shaggy brown muff of Pearl’s to approximate his curly head. Stepping back, he admired his work. Yes, the lump under the covers looked very like the sleeping lad that lay just beyond.

Stifling a self-satisfied snigger, he eased himself from the room, tip-toeing to the side door on the opposite side of the smial from that that led from the kitchen to the farmyard—not the front door, leading to the parlour, but the side door that, when propped open at the same time as the kitchen door, let a breeze blow through the smial on a summer’s day, like this one. The front door was almost never used, and so Merry did not trust the hinges not to creak. No worry about squeaking hinges with a propped-open door! He just had to scan the yard, to make sure no hired hobbits were about, and...

Eglantine looked up with a start. It was nearly time for elevenses, and she hadn’t even put the kettle on! Of course, with all the hired hobbits out in the field, and the visitors and her daughters at the neighbours', there were only herself and the little lads to do for. It wouldn’t take more than a few moments to slice bread and scramble some eggs.

She folded up the shawl she was nearly finished knitting and laid it away, stretching fingers cramped from two hours’ steady knitting. ‘There, now,’ she said, with a satisfied pat. ‘Ally’s gift all but finished, and next I can start Stellie’s, and by the time my birthday comes round I ought to have everything done.’

She walked down the hall, surprised that she’d not been interrupted by hungering lads, but peeking in at the door she saw two lumps on the bed, drowned in sleep and so still that it looked as if they’d sleep another hour, at least.

Very well, then. She’d scramble a few eggs for herself, and wait until the lads awakened to stir up their meal. She didn’t fancy feeding them eggs that had sat, keeping warm, for any length of time. It just didn’t seem wholesome, somehow. No, she’d scramble some eggs, heap them on toast, and then perhaps she’d lie herself down for a nap, for it certainly seemed a comfortable idea at the moment, with the smial so unusually quiet and peaceful.

A nap. Just the thing.