Another story inspired by a starter from Golden.

“Pip is a toddler and discovers the use of scissors while being at bag End, using them to cut off his foot hair.”

He’s older than a toddler, I think, because he is speaking rather well, but still too young to be trusted with scissors. :-)

Scissors

Pippin looked at the shiny metal tool laying on the small table next to his Cousin Bilbo’s favorite chair. Pippin had seen Bilbo, and so many others, use those things to make big things smaller. It seemed such a wondrous thing; almost a magical thing.

But he had been told not to touch the scissors.

In fact, his mother had often said he wasn’t to even think of touching scissors let alone actually touch them.

But . . .

But . . .

One small hand slowly reached out towards the shiny metal scissors.

Slowly.

Slowly.

His cousins, Bilbo, Frodo and Merry, would have been amazed at how slowly the little lad snuck up upon those innocent scissors, until the very tip of his first finger touched them like a baby’s sigh.

The little finger jerked back.

‘It doesnant feel bad,’ the child thought as the finger once more inched closer to the forbidden object.

Closer.

Closer.

The little finger lingered on one of the shiny round circles that were one end of the scissors.

“Where your fumb and finner go,” he whispered. “The circles is - are - where your fumb and finner go when you make the skizzers go ‘Snip! Snip!’.”

Pippin traced round and round the two circles with the tip of his first finger and the side of his thumb. It really wasn’t his fault when his finger dropped down into one of the circles. Nor when his thumb dropped into the other circle.

“Oops! They sipped and fell in the circles!” he said. “They dinn’t get hurt, so it’s all right.”

Pippin smiled as he pulled the scissors closer to the edge of the table.

Quietly.

Slowly.

Closer.

He almost dropped them when he pulled most of their length past the edge, but managed to hook them with his thumb that had fallen into one of the circles, and suddenly he was holding the scissors.

He stared at them, dangling from his tiny thumb and finger. They weren’t a tight pair of scissors and opened easily as he pulled his thumb and forefinger apart.

Slich! Snip! Slich! Snip! What wonderful noises they made! Pippin stood there a while just opening and closing the scissors.

But then he stopped. He looked around the sitting room.

What big thing could he find to make smaller?

There was a small desk in one corner and he could barely see that there was a stack of paper on it. Waving the scissors about as he walked he went over to the desk. He had to tip-toe to see over the edge, but his left hand had no trouble reaching the papers. He grabbed a few and pulled them off, while a few more fell down on their own. Pippin looked at the pages in his hand and the pages on the floor. There wasn’t any writing on them so he wouldn’t get into any trouble . . .

. . . except for the trouble he would be in for having the scissors to begin with, but he had already forgotten about that.

Carefully he put the paper between the long pieces of the scissors as he had seen all the grown ups and older children, like Merry and Sam, do. But the paper seemed to twist and get caught sideways in the long parts and it got folded instead of cut.

That wouldn’t do! He wanted to cut it; to make the big piece small like everyone else could do.

He held onto the paper with his left hand. Shakily at first, then with more confidence, Pippin made a cut into the paper.

“I did it!” he nearly shouted, catching himself after he said “I” and whispering the rest.

Soon, all the paper he had pulled off the desk was in little pieces on the sitting room carpet.

Pippin looked at it all. That was it? That was all there was? He frowned. He had just begun to get good at this cutting business. He looked around.

What else could he cut?

He spotted the crisp linen cloth that was laid over the arm of the sofa. He looked at the scissors.

“Ma cuts cloth with skizzers. I bet I can cut cloth with these skizzers!”

He got up and walked over to the arm of the sofa. He held the cloth with his left hand, opened the long things on the scissors . . . Blades! He suddenly remembered hearing his Ma call them the blades. He eased the cloth in between the blades and . . .

Snip!

“It feels diffent than the paper.” he muttered to himself as he opened the scissors, repositioned them, then made another cut. “Sounds diffent too.”

Soon both the arm protectors were in pieces on the floor.

Pippin looked at them lying on the floor. Beside his feet that were on the floor. Beside his furry feet that were on the floor.

He had had hair cuts before . . .

“I wonner if these skizzers will cut foot hair? I know skizzers will cut head hair.”

He thought about it for a few moments then plopped down on the floor, pulled his left foot toward himself and opened the scissors.

He closed the scissors.

A patch of his foot hair fell softly to the floor.

“Ooo!” Pippin said.

He opened and closed the scissors again.

“Oh!” Pippin said, and soon there was a pile of foot hair on the floor and his left foot sported only a few tufts here and there. It had felt oddly good, the cool touch of the blades of the scissors against the skin of his foot; a place where skin was hardly ever touched by anything. Then, there was the crunchy noise as the blades cut the course hair. It had been an immensely satisfying experience, one Pippin wanted to have last awhile longer.

He pulled his right foot closer.

It was not as easy to cut the hair off of his right foot, the angles just seemed all wrong with the foot being on the same side as the hand with the scissors, but soon his right foot looked the match of his left.

It looked like his left foot.

Like . . . his . . . left . . . foot! Which looked ugly!

It looked white and bumpy and . . . and . . . nasty!

Pippin looked again at his right foot.

It looked white and bumpy and just as nasty as his left foot looked.

“Nooooo!” Pippin howled. “No. No. No. No! Ugly! Nassy! Ugly bad foots!”

In the study, Bilbo jumped in surprise, causing him to leave a long line trailing off the “t” he had been crossing. Frodo and Merry jumped. They jarred the little table with the board for chess and draughts inlaid in its top so hard it caused their draughtsmen to slide off their places.

“I thought he was napping!” Bilbo exclaimed as they all ran out of the study and toward the sitting room.

None of them was prepared for what they found in the sitting room.

A red-faced, wailing child stood in the center of a disaster with a pair of scissors dangling from his small right hand. The floor around him was covered with assorted sized pieces of . . . well, a lot of whatever it was.

“Peregrin, lad!” Bilbo cried out as he rushed through the debris on the floor. His first thought had been that the child had cut himself, more than the matter of playing with the forbidden scissors. “There, there now my little lad,” he cooed as he knelt and drew Pippin into a comforting hug. “There, there now. Have you cut yourself, Pippin? Are you hurt?”

The little head against his shoulder shook to indicate “no” while the child kept saying, “my foots, my foots” over and over through his crying.

“He’s cut up your fancy paper, Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo said.

“And the linens off the arms of the sofa too,” added Merry, who then snorted with laughter. “Look at his foot!” He guffawed, pointing at Pippin’s left foot; it being on the side Merry was standing on and the only one of the pair he could see. He laughed even harder.

“Noooo!” Pippin wailed. “Don’ look at my ugly, nassy foots!” He tried to hide his feet, but that is hard to do when one is standing on one’s feet. The lad covered the one nearest Merry, his left one, with the other foot, his right one.

Merry pointed, doubling over with his mirth. “He did it to both of them!”

“Shush, Merry!” Frodo said sharply, though of course Pippin had already heard his favorite cousin’s words.

Pippin howled even louder into poor Bilbo’s right ear. “Meerrryyy! No, Merry! Don’ look, Merry. Don’ laugh at my ugly, nassy footses!”

Frodo grabbed Merry around the waist and dragged him out of the sitting room while Bilbo sought to calm the hysterical wee lad.

When the child was sniffling instead of sobbing, Bilbo said, as he slowly got up from kneeling, “Come over here, Pippin, and sit on my lap.”

Bilbo sat in the old soft wingback chair then helped Pippin clamber up onto his lap. He wrapped his arm around the lad and gave him a gentle squeeze.

“What happened in here, Pippin? We thought you were taking your nap.”

“I was, Cousin Bilbo. But my nap decided it was over so I got up.”

“I see. And why didn’t you come and tell me that your nap thought it was over?”

The child shrugged and looked down at his lap. “You would say it was wrong and to go back to my room,” he whispered.

“Yes, I would have. Was that the only reason you didn’t come to the study?”

“No.” There was a long pause. “I wanted to look in here.”

“Just look in the sitting room?”

The golden-red brown curls swished a bit on his bowed head as Pippin slowly shook his head. “Wanted to look at the skizzers,” he said in a voice so soft even Bilbo’s hobbit ears barely heard him.

“What was that, Pippin?” Bilbo asked kindly.

“Wanted to look at the skizzers,” Pippin said more loudly.

“I see,” Bilbo said slowly. “You wanted to look at the scissors.”

Pippin nodded, then, after of few moments shook his head.

“You wanted to see if you could use the scissors, didn’t you, Pippin?”

Again the curly haired head slowly nodded.

“And you knew you weren’t allowed to use scissors yet, didn’t you.”

Another slow nod, accompanied by a small sniff. Bilbo saw the small dark spot from a tear form where it fell on the lad’s breeches leg.

“I’ll go back to my first question then. What happened in here, Pippin?”

Intermixed with sniffing and tears the story came out. “I came in and looked at the skizzers. Then I touched them and then my fumb and finner went into the circles and . . .”

He looked at Bilbo’s raised eyebrows and decided to change his story.

“I put my fumb and finner into the circles and . . . and . . . I picked up the skizzers.”

“Very good lad. You told the truth. What happened next?”

“I moved my fumb and finner and made the skizzers move. They’re called blades, Bilbo.” Pippin suddenly smiled as he shared this bit of, what he felt was, grown up knowledge.

“I know lad. Very good. Go on.”

The smile vanished. “They made a nice sound when they moved, but . . . I . . . eh, wanted to see if I could make something big get little, and I saw the paper and I could reach it, and it din’t have no - any - thing on it so it wasn’t ‘portent, so I made it little.”

It had all come out in a rush and Pippin needed to take quite a big breath when he finished.

“It was important,” Bilbo said softly but firmly. “It is, eh, it was very expensive paper that I had bought for something special I am planning to write.”

Pippin paled and the tears pooled in his eyes before running down his already wet cheeks. “I’m sorry, Cousin Bilbo. I’m looked and . . . I’m sorry I made your ‘spensive paper all little, Cousin Bilbo.”

“I’m quite certain you are, Pippin,” the old hobbit said, patting the lad’s back and finally handing him a handkerchief. “But, I don’t think that is the only thing I see in pieces on the floor, is it, Peregrin?”

The small head bowed and shook “no” again.

“I made the cloth things little too,” he whispered, then he looked up quickly. “I wanted to know if it felt diffent and sounded diffent than when the skizzers made paper little. Ma uses skizzers on cloth and . . . I wanted to . . . It sounds diffent, Cousin Bilbo an-and it feels diffent.”

Again he was breathless with the excitement of his discoveries, although his eyes showed that he knew he had been naughty. Bilbo nearly chuckled aloud as he thought, ‘And they say cats are curious!’ To Pippin he said, “Yes, it does feel and sound different to cut paper than cloth.”

Bilbo sighed as he looked at Peregrin’s feet. “And I’m sure that felt and sounded different too, didn’t it?”

Pippin threw his arms around Bilbo’s neck and began to sob into his collar. “Ugly!” he heard the lad saying. “Ugly and nassy! An-an’ Merry laughed an’ Vinca will laugh an’ Nel will laugh an-an’ Sancho will laugh an . . . an . . . everyone will laugh at me.”

The last came out as a plaintive, desperate wail, and for a long time the old hobbit did nothing but cuddle the lad and rock him gently.

“Do you want me to be honest with you, Pippin lad?”

He nodded against Bilbo’s shoulder.

“Yes, I’m afraid to say that other children will laugh at your feet until your foot hair grows back, but that is the good part, my lad, it will grow back.”

Pippin turned his head so he could speak more easily. “Like when I get my head-hair cut?”

“Just like that, yes,” Bilbo said. “Look at me, Pippin.”

The child sat up and looked at his cousin through red, puffy, watery eyes.

Bilbo looked stern, but he hoped not too frightfully so. “You know you were very naughty this afternoon, don’t you Pippin?”

“Yes,” replied a tiny voice.

“You not only touched the scissors, which you knew you are not allowed to do, but you destroyed several sheets of expensive paper and the linen protectors from my sofa. I know you know better than to ruin other people’s things.”

“Yes.” Pippin said in between sniffs.

“I should give you a rather hefty punishment, however . . .” Bilbo paused as he closed his left hand over one of Pippin’s little bald feet. He gave the cold foot a tender squeeze as he continued. “I think you gave yourself an excellent punishment. One that will last a few weeks, I dare say, so I don’t see any need to add to your discomfort.”

Pippin mumbled, “Thank you, Cousin Bilbo.” while still sniffling.

Bilbo moved his hand to hold Pippin’s other foot for a few moments and sighed. “Your feet are cold.”

Pippin nodded.

“Frodo!” Bilbo called, though not too loudly as he knew Frodo and Merry were just out in the tunnel. Both lads came into the room.

“Sorry I laughed at your feet, Pip.” Merry said, his sincerity showing in his voice.

“Frodo,” Bilbo said, “will you go to Number Three and ask Mrs. Gamgee if she can come up here. I want to see if she can make some . . . ah . . .” He nearly said booties but caught himself. He didn’t want the poor upset lad thinking he was making an infant of him. “Slippers to keep Peregrin’s feet warm.”

“Yes, Bilbo,” Frodo replied as he tugged at Merry’s arm. “Come along, Merry.”

“If it’s all right with you, Frodo, I’d like to stay here,” Merry said, then he turned to Pippin. “Shall we go play a game of draughts, Pip? Get your mind off things a bit? Mrs. Gamgee can measure your feet while we’re playing.”

The younger lad looked up at his cousin. “You’re not going to laugh when she comes, are you Merry? When I have to get slippers?”

“No, Pip, I won’t laugh. I promise you I won’t laugh about your feet again.” Merry paused, then a grin spread across his features. “Not to say I won’t laugh at you for other reasons . . .”

“Merry!” Pippin gasped.

But then both lads laughed out loud. Merry held out his hand, Pippin took it, and they went off together to the little table with the inlaid game board to set up their game of draughts.