Merry Christmas, Dreamflower! We might just finish this story yet!

Chapter 22. In which it is shown that not just lads have conspiracies and adventures

On their way out of the smial, Pearl was called back to the kitchen, to help with the washing up. Pimpernel, thinking quickly, grabbed a basket from its hook by the door and brandished it aloft. 'Eggs!' she said succinctly, and ducked out the door, grabbing Rosemary's hand as she went, to pull the visiting cousin after.

To cover their escape, Pearl went quickly to the washstand and plunged her hands into the hot and soapy water, scrubbing vigorously at the first plate she found, dunking it in the rinse water and laying it ready to be dried and put away. Her Banks cousins, having come as soon as their milking was done to help out in the emergency, quickly took up the task of putting away. As Eglantine was a Banks, her kitchen was arranged much as her own mother's had been, making the task easy.

'Where's--?' Violetta Banks began, but Pearl chose that moment to break into song, selecting a catchy tune that her cousins had no choice but to follow. And follow they did, gaily winding their harmonies with Pearl's, until the kitchen rang with sweet song, lightening the hearts of all who heard them.

***

Hand in hand, Pimpernel and Rosemary sped from the farmyard, across the fields. It would be quicker than by farm road, Pimpernel explained in gasps. She still clutched the egg basket, and any hobbits who saw them assumed they'd been sent to gather cress or herbs.

They had to drop hands when they came to the first stile, climbing over, and the next field had been ploughed and so they must pick their way with care. They saw no sign of the lads' footprints, though there were plenty larger in the dirt, no doubt left by searchers. 'They probably went by another way,' Nell reassured an anxious Rosemary, who was fretting that they'd missed the right way. 'Frodo told Pearl it was the copse just past the sheep meadow...' Another stile, and astonished cows lifted their heads from their grazing to stare at the interlopers. They had to take care in this field for a different reason! Another stile, another field, and another...

Nell clutched her basket with a white-knuckled hand as they passed the last fence into the uncultivated meadowland, the grass short-cropped by occasional visits by sheep. A stream ran through it, quiet-seeming waters that nonetheless ran deep if one strayed more than a step or two from the pebbly bank.

Rosemary was breathing hard by this time, and she pulled Pimpernel to a stop beside the stream. 'A moment,' she gasped, and Pimpernel found herself glad for the chance to catch her breath.

'This must be where they found Merry's jacket,' Rosemary said at last, when she was able to put enough words together. 'They said it was by a stream...'

'And Frodo said the copse beyond the sheep meadow,' Pimpernel finished, pointing to the trees that rose before them, crowding together as if to mimic the forests found to the east.

***

It was dark and quiet under the eaves, and their feet made no noise on the mossy ground. 'Here, somewhere,' Pimpernel said, at a loss.

'A log,' Rosemary said. 'I heard them saying that they fished the lads out of a hollow log...' She stumbled, with a little cry of pain, and sat down abruptly, rubbing her ankle.

Pimpernel dropped her basket and fell to her knees beside her cousin. 'Don't tell me you've turned your ankle!' she said.

'Very well,' Rosemary said, trying for all the dignity she could muster, though she had to bite her lip hard to keep the tears from falling.

'Very well, what?' Nell demanded.

'I won't tell you,' Rosemary retorted, rubbing at her ankle.

'Here, let me see,' Nell said.

She explored the ankle with surprising gentleness, considering how roughly she'd spoken, and sat back with a sigh. 'I don't think you've broken it,' she said.

'That's a mercy, at least,' Rosemary said, but her tone was rueful.

Nell rose and began to walk off, untying her apron as she went. 'I'll be back directly,' she flung over her shoulder.

'Lovely,' Rosemary said to herself. 'Gone for help, I suppose.' She sighed glumly. Ferdi ill, and now she had to injure herself and cause her parents further worry. Could she do nothing right?

She pawed idly through the moss, seeking the hard, round object that had felled her. It turned out to be a stone, smooth and evenly curved. Her fingers closed around it; it had a nice heft to it, a proper stone for the throwing. Looking ahead, she saw more stones, scattered about, seeming at random, but a closer look showed a pattern. There was a little group of stones here, where she sat, and another little group a little way over there. Hmm. Stones... thrown?

She looked ahead, peering through the dimness under the canopy of trees. This would be the perfect place to play of a sultry summer's day, she thought idly. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw a small circle of deeper darkness in the shadows ahead. Could it be...?

The hair on the back of her neck prickled with sudden apprehension, and she thought of the beasts to be found in shadowy hiding. Spiders, hanging from the trees, or foxes, or stoats, small but dangerous, a badger, or... While she was five years older than Ferdi, she was still just a young hobbit lass, and injured as she was, a fox might think her easy prey.

Though it gave her ankle a twinge, Rosemary moved to gather all the stones in reach, piling them in her apron, a satisfying weight, holding one clenched in her fist when her gathering was done. She kept wary watch on that darker patch among the shadows, somehow convinced it was the lair of a wild and dangerous beast.

As it was, she wrenched herself around and nearly let fly when her neck hairs prickled again, to warn her of something coming up behind her. Luckily she kept her fingers tight on the stone so that it did not leave her hand, to smack the approaching Pimpernel, who'd've taken a dim view of such goings on.

Nell carried in her basket her dripping-wet apron, drenched in the stream, and bent to tie it about Rosemary's ankle. 'There,' she said, and then noticed the pile of stones in Rosemary's apron. 'Very pretty, I'm sure,' she said, 'but you'd have done better to keep still.'

'Don't you see, Nell?' Rosemary said with sudden insight. 'The lads were here! These are the very stones Merry flung at the fox, to save my little Ferdi!'

Pimpernel gasped, taking up a stone in a reverent hand. 'The very stones,' she echoed in a whisper.

Then she rose, stone still in her hand, peering eagerly about them.

'There,' Rosemary said, pointing at that patch of blacker blackness. As Nell started forward, Rosemary caught at the hem of her dress. 'Careful,' she said. 'It may well be the den of a beast.'

'I'll be careful,' Nell promised, picking up another stone a little further on, and continued bravely with stones clenched in both fists.

She turned to call in an intense whisper, 'It's a log!' and turned back to fling one of the stones, hard, against the wood of the log, eliciting a hollow sound. She picked up a stout stick that lay nearby—Frodo's stick, if she had but known it—and advanced on the log, bringing the stick down hard. 'Hi, you!' she cried. 'Out of there! Out, I say!' She beat upon the log with a storm of blows, finally stopping.

Turning once more to Rosemary, she called, 'Nobody at home, I think.'

'I should hope not,' Rosemary grumbled, but she waved acknowledgement.