by Marigold & Llinos (we beta-d each other!)

6th April 1383

The Gaffer looked at Sam’s excited face with dismay. Surely there must be some mistake? Mr Bilbo had come round last night after little Sammy had been put to bed and given Bell a gaily-wrapped present for their youngest.

Upon her protestations that he shouldn’t have gone to the trouble Mr Bilbo had answered, “Stuff and nonsense! Of course I should have! It’s not every day that one of my favourite lads becomes a faunt. And he’ll make good use of it, I’m certain.”

But Hamfast couldn’t imagine what use such an item would be to little Sam and neither did Hamson, sharing a confused grimace with his dad. Little Daisy didn’t even seem sure what the present was.

Sam however had no such problem.

“Look Mumma! Look Dad! Is a slate for my ownself!”

He grabbed up the slate pencil and began marking on the flat black surface before Hamfast could stop him, Daisy peering curiously over his shoulder.

“Wait a bit Sam-lad.” Hamfast reached over and gently took the slate pencil from the new faunt. "I think that Mr Bilbo must have brought the wrong parcel by. Likely this is meant for one of his young cousins.”

“Not for mine?” Sam’s cheerful face fell.

“Such things are dear, Sammy,” his mumma said gently, “Mr Bilbo likely mixed up his gifts. He gives so many ‘twould be easy to do.”

Halfred laughed. “And what’d you want with such a useless toy anyway, Sammy? Not like you can have any fun with such a thing.”

“Can!” Sam declared. “Can write letters on it, look!” He proudly displayed the slate with the odd squiggles he had drawn upon it.

Hamfast frowned. He had no wish to scold the lad on such an important birthday but Sam was old enough now to know better than to pretend to be able to do something that he couldn’t.

Bell stepped in, sensing that her husband was about to chide the little one. “If you knew your letters the gift might make sense, but Sam dear, this sort of thing is for gentlehobbits as can write and read some.”

“How’d they learn then Mumma?” he questioned. “They need a slate to learn ‘em on.”

Bell was a bit taken aback by Sam’s logic but Halfred wrinkled his nose. “Just so Sammy. You ain’t learning your letters so 'tis a silly present.”

Sam felt this to be an attack on Mr Bilbo and took exception; he loved Mr Bilbo dearly and thought nothing the kind master did could be silly. He was clever, was Mr Bilbo.

“It not silly Hal! I know 'bout letters. I know three, just like how old I am.” He began to trace the letters he had drawn on the slate. “S…a…m! Sam!”

The reactions to Sam’s display were mixed; May and Daisy were awed that their little brother was so clever as to know three letters, Bell was beaming with pride, Halfred was sure that Sam was just making it up that they were letters, Hamson was taken aback and Hamfast was not pleased at all.

“Where’d you learn such a thing Sam-lad?” he asked disapprovingly.

Sam was oblivious to his father’s displeasure. “I ast Master Frodo last time he come to stay. He made letters in the dirt for me and then I did it same, my ownself, lots and lots till I knowed them.” He traced the letters lovingly.

“Well, that’s fine Sammy,” said Bell, though she knew her husband didn’t think it fine at all. “But this must go back to Mr Bilbo. Else he’ll be giving the present he really meant for you to one of his little cousins and that wouldn’t be right, would it?”

Sam’s lip quivered. “S’pose ‘twouldn’t.”

“Oh, but can’t he keep it?” May was stroking the length of fine ribbon that the parcel had been tied with and Bell had no doubt that the lass was thinking what a fine bow it would make for her hair. She had thought so as well. Cut in half there would be enough for May and Daisy both, and it was such a lovely shade of blue. The cloth wrapping was very fine too; Bell had already been of a mind to use it for a gift of handkerchiefs for Hamson who was going soon to apprentice to his uncle in Tighfield, she had a bit of silk thread to embroider his name. But the wrapping would have to go back with the gift.

“He can’t give it back now anyway,” Daisy pointed out, not wanting her little brother to be disappointed. “He’s already marked on it.”

Little Sam sighed at his sister’s lack of knowledge and took up the small chamois that had come in the package. Carefully he wiped the slate clean and handed both items to his father. Never one to be down for long he grinned. “Least I got to write my name proper one time!”

Two days later Hamfast sat at the old worktable in his shed behind the small storage barn at Bag End. This was his domain. He had finished in the gardens for the day and all of his tools – well, some his own, and some belonging to Mr Bilbo – were in their proper place, hung on hooks in the wall or stored neatly on shelves. He believed in good order, did Hamfast. The gardens at Bag End were a job of work and if a fellow didn’t stay organised things could quickly get out of hand. He was enjoying a well-earned tipple of the Master’s fine cider but he was also still hard at work. Hamfast did not believe in idle hands.

At the moment he was sorting through his seed packets. If there was one thing in the shed that was disorganised it was his seeds and he sighed in frustration.

He knew the seeds themselves by sight of course, except for some of the master’s rare blooms from foreign parts, but he always had a time of it keeping the packets sorted. Like old Holman, and likely Hal Greenhand before him, Hamfast had drawn a crude representation of the end result on each packet but this was done in charcoal and so had a way of getting smudged beyond being legible. So every year Hamfast found himself continually opening packets to check the contents. This was very time consuming and also confusing, as he had to remember which smudged packets were which so that he could take the proper ones with him out to the gardens each day when he was planting.

He took another swig of the strong cider then set his mug to one side. No good making himself tipsy when he had need to concentrate. When Sammy got a bit older he could do this instead. Sam would be taking over from him someday after all; there was no doubt about that. Hamson was a fine worker but he was no gardener and Hamfast barely trusted his eldest to dig a few potatoes for the table. He’d do well apprenticing to his Uncle Andy though.

Halfred loved the gardens but they didn’t love him back; if he spent more than a few minutes among the roses his eyes turned red and he broke out sneezing. May had a real gift with growing things but she was a lass so the talent was wasted. She kept up the kitchen garden at home well enough so that Hamfast could leave her to it but that was all that he would allow. Daisy was still young enough to follow her old dad about and was a dab hand at deadheading and pulling weeds but it would soon be time she stayed more in the smial with her mum, learning to sew and cook.

Sammy now, he had been helping in the gardens since he could toddle about. Hamfast gave him useful jobs to do, like clearing the beds of stones or collecting fallen petals for his mum to sew into little pillows to be sold at the market. Sam loved every minute of it, and Ham could see that his youngest lad had it in him to become as good a gardener as he was someday. Sam was a determined one, and smart as a whip.

This thought reminded Hamfast of his conversation with Mr Bilbo about Sammy’s birthday gift. For the slate had been meant for him. The master had been disappointed to have the gift returned though Hamfast was shrewd enough to tell that it not been unexpected.

“I am sorry if you felt my little gift was inappropriate, but he’s a clever lad Ham. I thought that it would suit him,” Bilbo had sighed taking back the carefully rewrapped parcel.

“He was right pleased with it Sir, and thank you kindly. But he’d nowt be able to make proper use of it.”

Mr Bilbo had appeared to consider something, then said, as if the idea had just come to him, “Perhaps I could teach him his letters. Then he would have a use for this.”

Hamfast had been so startled by the suggestion that his employer would be willing to take on such a task, that for a moment he could make no response. Mr Bilbo had tried to press his advantage.

“I find myself with a great deal of time on my hands, and I enjoy spending time with Sam. I hope that you will consider it.” Mr Bilbo had then struck the finishing blow. "I've a great many books too, I'm sure Sam would enjoy being able to learn from them – he loves stories and, once he can read, I'd be happy for him to borrow a volume or two."

He had looked at Hamfast so hopefully that the gardener couldn’t outright say no, as he had wished to. With a muttered, “I’ll think on’t sir,” Ham had taken himself off actually feeling badly that he had disappointed the master as well as his own son. But it just wasn’t proper, nothing about it was, and what need did Sam have to learn  reading and writing anyway? Letters were for gentlefolk, not the likes of his family. And books! Well, whatever would folk think?

Now that he had had a day or two to think, he realised that Mr Bilbo had hoped all along to get Ham’s permission to teach Sammy to read and write. He must think Sam a sharp lad to want to take time away from his own book studying, though what fascination the master found in those things Hamfast couldn’t fathom. But Sam wouldn’t have time to waste on fairy stories and histories about places that didn’t concern him.

Hamfast opened a packet of seeds that he thought from the sketch contained radishes. They were marigolds. Fiddlesticks! As always this was taking far too long. He’d be late to supper if he didn’t get his next day's work organised soon.

There was a rap on the shed door and Hamfast opened it to find little Sammy standing there with a large piece of bread and cheese in his hand. "Mumma sayed to bring you cheese Dad." Sam thrust the morsel into his father's hand.

Hamfast grunted and bit into the impromptu supper. Bell often would send a piece up to him when his working day ran over, especially now she was so heavy with child and needed to get her rest. He knew she would have also left a hefty bit on a plate for when he got home. Sam, instead of retreating, lingered in the shed, touching the various forks and spades with great reverence. His father gave a grudging smile and turned back to his seed sorting.

"Dad," Sam asked eventually, "why's the fork got bits on it?"

"What?" Hamfast looked at where his son was pointing. "Oh that be a bit o' rust, can't be helped that, gets in over the Winterfilth."

"Goose greaser-ing." Sam stumbled over the half-remembered advice. "Mr Bilbo sayed that."

"What you meaning Sammy?" The Gaffer threw Sam a puzzled frown.

"Mr Bilbo sayed you put goose greaser-ing on the forks and spades to keep them good!" Sam furrowed his brow trying to remember the exact words, then sang the rhyme Bilbo had taught him. "A'fore Halimath fades, goose greaser-ing aides, your forks an' your spades, an' is good for your blades!"

"Now where'd you learn that?" Hamfast thought he knew all the tricks of the trade, but this was a new one on him.

"Mr Bilbo sayed it from a book!" Sam said brightly. "He knows lots of things of books!"

"Oh yes," Hamfast looked sternly at his child, "what else did he teach you out of them there books?"

Sam obediently put his hands behind his back and recited: "Where onions do grow, rosemary you sow, Along wiv some thyme, An' all will be fine!"

"Well that's true enough." The Gaffer was well versed in the protective qualities of various herbs sown along with vegetables. "What else?"

"If in Solmath you prune, your roses will bloom, But plant cabbages an' taters, when you see skaters! Turnips and kale when west winds pre… pre…" Sam stopped abruptly. "I forgetted the words."

"Never mind Sammy." His father could not help but be impressed. After all, the lad was only a faunt and to have acquired that much knowledge – just from a bit o' book learning, and at his age. "You done very well."

Hamfast turned back to his seed sorting once more, deep in thought. Sam loitered in the shed, running his hands through the sacks of compost, turning the flowerpots all the same way up and even sneaking a sip of his father's cider when the Gaffer was looking the other way.

Eventually, Hamfast finished and rose to leave. Sam waited as the shed was carefully secured, then placed his hand in his father's for the walk home.

"No Sammy," Hamfast relinquished the trusting little mitt and turned his son around. "I got a job for you. You're to go up to Mr Bilbo's and knock and be polite, mind. You're to say I had a change o' mind and you can have that slate thing after all!"

"Dad?" Sam was puzzled, his father's word was law and seldom did he relent once a decision was made.

"Now don't you argufy!" Hamfast gave Sam a little push on his backside. "Get along up there and be sure you mind your P's and Q's."

Sam needed no more encouragement and started towards the smial.

The Gaffer called after him, "and you can say, I'm all right with them books and him teaching you." The gardener pulled off his misshapen hat and scratched his head, 'who would've thought they could put such things in books – useful things, not just fanciful stories – but just the sort of things his Sam might actually need to know.'

6th April 1390

"Hurry up Samwise," Daisy scolded. She was busily preparing Sam's birthday feast and everything had to be done proper, even Mr Bilbo and Mr Frodo would be guests and the family had decided they needed to put on a good show.

Little Marigold was setting the places at the table and Hamson had made the trip over from Tighfield especially. A pile of gifts was stacked by the door, all neatly wrapped and labelled, ready to present to the arriving guests.

The Gaffer, his day's work finished early, was presiding over the affair from the comfort of his big armchair, pipe firmly clenched in his teeth and a mug of tea by his side. He watched with satisfaction as his Sam finished off labelling the seed packets, some for sale in the market, some for storage in his own potting shed. "Aye lad, I never thought I'd live to see the day a Gamgee would be writing in his own hand."

"Didn't you Dad?" Sam looked up with a cheeky grin, "but aren't you glad?"

"Well – it's not so bad, all things considered." The Gaffer admitted. "Although I weren't too sure at the time, but Mr Bilbo did give you a right good gift there, and no mistake!"