This story started out as a sarcastic response to a minichallenge given to me by Golden.  Cathleen read the very short sarcastic version and felt it could be turned into a good story and pestered my until I did so.

Warning: Pippin does get spanked in this story.  Not abused, not whipped, not tortured; just a spanking.  It is not the focus of the story, but, if you don't approve of a child being spanked then this is not a story you will want to read. 

The starter Golden gave me was: Pippin does something and Frodo is dissapointed in him. Elements: a bed, a talk, a party

Frodo is 32 (20 ½), Sam is  20 (13), Pippin is 10 (6 ½)

Bad Pippin

Pippin was at Bag End for a visit.  A rather odd occurrence as Bilbo was off visiting Dora Baggins and he usually didn’t leave Frodo to his own devices when the little Took was coming.  Pippin was only a little over ten years old and somewhat young to be visiting for an undetermined amount of time without his family, but there was an illness of some sort abroad in the Tookland and Eglantine presently had little time for anything but her healer’s duties.  Pearl was an apprenticing healer, so she was off with her mother.  Nell and their cook were managing the house, and Vinca was too young to mind little Pippin without someone to help her.  That and, truth be told, Lanti wanted her youngest away from the sickness.  Hobbiton was closer than Brandy Hall, so Pippin was being sent off to Bilbo and Frodo’s comfortable hole.

It had really been dreadful timing, as far as Frodo was concerned, when the note explaining the matter arrived from the Tooks.  Not that he disliked the wee lad, nor that he didn’t enjoy having him visit, but seeing as Bilbo was going to be away for three weeks, Frodo had made some plans of his own.   Bilbo had given him permission to host a big party for all his friends at the mid point of Bilbo’s absence; the first party Frodo was hosting entirely on his own.  He had even sent out six very proper invitations to the friends he was inviting.  There was no changing it all now and, as luck would have it, the party was set for the first night his little cousin would be at Bag End.

Pippin arrived the afternoon of the party day with his little travel bag in his hand and his larger bag in the hand of his father.  Frodo noticed that the child seemed nervous or frightened instead of his usual bubbly self.  His eyes had an odd haunted look to them and he seemed to be clinging to his father.

“I’m sorry to do this to you Frodo,” Paladin said with an awkwardness not normal to him as he set his son down on Bag End’s front step.  “We truly do hate putting you and Bilbo out, but Lanti just won’t have the lad kept by kin nor friend in the Tooklands.”

“I understand Cousin Paladin.  He shouldn’t be exposed to whatever it is that is plaguing the Tooklands,” Frodo said, trying to sound as mature as he could for his 28 years.  He squatted down to speak to Pippin.  “Sam is in the garden, Pip, if you would like to go see Sam.”  

The lad perked up a little.  He smiled and nodded happily.  “Yes!  I like Sam!” he said as he hurried off around the hole to where the garden was, his little travel bag still clutched in his hand.

Frodo stood up and addressed his older cousin.  “Have there been any . . .” he paused, “. . . any deaths?”

“No, lad, thank all that’s good and fair in Middle-earth, though you may want to chose a word other than “plaguing.”  The haggard hobbit smiled a weary smile.

Frodo startled a little.  “Oh!  Oh, my!  I should say so.  I’m sorry, Cousin Paladin.  I . . . eh . . .  I was just about to say that Bilbo is not here just now.”

Paladin looked concerned.

“He will be back in a week and a half.  He is visiting his Cousin Dora Baggins and doesn’t even know yet about your needing to have us watch Pippin.  But . . .” Frodo hastened along, “I have the Gamgees just down The Hill.  Should I need any assistance I can get help from them.  In fact, should I need to, Cousin Paladin, would you mind my taking Pippin down to their hole occasionally so I can have a small break from watching the lad?”

Paladin smiled a knowing, and relieved, smile.  “That will be a fine thing to do, Frodo.  If the Gamgees are willing to take him some of the time, that will be all well and good.”

They chatted a little longer then Paladin took his leave of Frodo to hurry back to Whitwell.

Frodo had hoped he could send Pippin to the Gamgees to stay overnight while he had his party, and did some sleeping it off the next morning.  But he hopes were soon dashed when he asked Sam about it back in the garden.

“I’ve a favor to ask you, Sam,” Frodo began.  “Well, to ask of your Mum and Gaffer more than you.”

“Yes, Mister Frodo?”

“You know about the party tonight . . .” Frodo began, but paused as he saw the light of understanding come into Sam’s brown eyes.

“The little tyke,” Sam said with a nod toward where Pippin was playing in the dirt under the swing.

“Yes,” Frodo sighed with relief.

“They can’t”

“What!”

“They can’t take the lad.  The whole family is goin’ to visit Aunt May and her new babe.  They’re leavin’ right after tea and are spendin’ the evenin’.  All that is ‘cept me, as I’m invited to your party tonight.”

Frodo wilted before Sam’s eyes.

“I reckon the party is why you were wantin’ someone to watch over Pippin for you.”

Frodo nodded.

“Tell you what, Mister Frodo.  I haven’t been too terribly comfortable with comin’ to the party . . . I know, I know,” the gardener said holding up his hands to stop the words his master was about to speak.  “I know that I know all your friends, and there are very few of them as make me feel anything but welcome, but I feel awkward just the same.  I am suggestin’ that I’ll be there, sit at supper with you all, be in the parlor and sing songs and such, but that I be responsible for the lad.”

“You would do that for me, Sam?” Hope finally gleamed in Frodo’s eyes.

“Of course I would!  I like that little lad and I’m used to a young one being underfoot.”

And so it went.  Supper was superb, the bottle of Old Winyards was excellent, and the beer barrel in the cellar had been filled with the best the Green Dragon brewed.  Pippin had appeared to have fun as most of Frodo’s friends were cousins of his and he already knew them, while Sam had kept the child occupied whenever the other guests and the host were too busy for him.  Finally Pippin’s bed time arrived.  All the guests received a sloppy kiss goodnight, Frodo excused himself for a few minutes to help the lad get ready for bed and tuck him in.  Sam stayed behind to tell Pippin a bedtime story or two so Frodo could return to his party.

And return he did!  He had had three glasses of wine with his meal, two more than his usual, and afterwards had three half-pints of that wonderful beer in fast order.  After tucking Pippin in, he decided he liked the beer so much that he had three more, then added a few swigs from the bottle of a distiled home brew that Tolly Chubb snuck out of his father’s store in their cellar.  Good old Frodo was feeling very happy by the time Pippin showed up in the doorway of the parlor.

The little lad was looking very forlorn, hugging the small, satin pillow he cuddled at night.

“Frodo, I wet the bed,” Pippin softly said, his embarrassment adding a tremor to his voice.  He was a “big lad” of ten who knew enough to use the privy or the chamber pot; it wasn’t pleasant to feel like a faunt.

It was easy for Frodo and all his friends to see, and smell, that the child had indeed wet the bed.  This was not something Frodo wanted to have to deal with in front of all his tweenaged friends.  They were having fun.  He was having fun and now this smelly little child was ruining eveything.  Sam had said he would take care of Pippin, so he started to push away from the table where he was playing draughts with Tolly, but he didn’t move fast enough.

“Pippin!” Frodo screamed at the lad as he turned all red in the face.  “How dare you do that!  You are much too old for that and you know I’m having a party and wanting to be with my friends.” Frodo’s words were sightly slurred from too much drink.  He staggered a bit as he marched over to stand, swaying, in front of his little cousin, who now had a look of horror on his small face.  “You did this on purpose to get attention, didn’t you?  Just like at your house, you have to be the center of attention!  Fussing and annoying your sisters until you get what you want or you get them in trouble.”

Frodo grabbed the child by the arm, pulling Pippin, too quickly for his little legs to move, all the way to the child’s bedroom, leaving all of his friends in stunned silence behind him.  With a nod to the others, Sam silently followed them.  He had seen his friend and master’s temper a few times before.  It had been back when Frodo was a bit of a wild youngster and had come to visit Mister Bilbo.  He could also remember Master Merry’s father not always being able to handle the orphaned lad who was in his care.  But Sam had seen only mild remnants of that temper since Mister Frodo had come to Bag End to live.

Frodo pushed the door into Pippin’s room open with a shove that sent it banging against the wall.   He yanked the child over to the bed.  The room stank with urine.  He bent Pippin over the edge of the wet bed and spanked him, giving him five solid swats before rather roughly letting go of him.  The little lad’s wobbly legs gave under him and he ended up landing on the floor with a soft thud.

“Eewww!” Frodo spat out as he looked for a dry part of the bedding to wipe his hand off.  “Eeeww!  Now I have your pee on my hand!”

A small cup of water stood on the nightstand.  Frodo picked it up, held his hand over the bed and poured the water over it, then he dried it on an different dry spot on the sheets.  He looked down at the child.  Dealing with his hand had taken the hot edge off of his anger, but he was still terribly upset.  Much more than he would have been had he been sober.

“There was no oilcloth on the bed, Pippin, because you aren’t supposed to wet the bed anymore!” Frodo fumed while pacing back and forth.  “So the mattress is soaked as well as the linens.”  He stopped pacing and held his head.  For a moment, he thought he might get sick.

“Just what I need,” he thought angrily.  “As if the little brat hasn’t made enough mess.”  Even as he thought it, it sounded wrong.  Pippin wasn’t a brat, but the thought quickly swirled away as another wave of nausea rolled through his midsection.

Lifting his head, the pale and queasy tween shook his finger at the child who sat huddled and crying on the floor.  “You will take the filthy linens off the bed and put them in the laundry, then you can sleep on the floor since the mattress is wet.  And you had better not let the linens drag on the floor and spread your pee all over the hole.  I’m . . .” Frodo belched loudly, bringing a foul taste into his mouth.  “I’m going back to my party and I better not hear another peep out of you tonight, or you’ll get another spanking!”  With that Frodo stomped out of the room.

Sam barely had time to duck into the linen closet before Frodo stormed past on his way back to the parlor.  He could hear him telling  Rolo Boffin to start playing his fiddle again and offering everyone another round of beer.  The guests were all drunk enough that they quickly forgot about the interruption and went on with the party.

By the time Sam felt he could come out of the closet safely, and tend to the little one, Pippin had stood up and was starting to try to pull the soggy linens off of the bed as he had been told.

“Here now, Master Pippin,” Sam quietly said as he gently pulled the sheet out of the child’s hands.  “Here now.  Let me help you, lad.”

Pippin was crying and sniffling too hard to respond, but he nodded and let Sam finish with the bedding.

“You stay here, Pip, and I’ll just put these in the laundry.  Then I’ll get a few towels and a basin and we’ll get you all washed up.  Don’t sit on the chair, now, bein’ as you’re wet.  I’ll be right back.”

In less than a quarter hour, Sam had Pippin washed up, in a clean nightshirt, taken to the privy for good measure, and bedded down in front of a small fire on a pallet made with a thick quilt.

“I din’t mean ta . . . ta wet the bed, Sam.” Pippin whispered.  “I din’t do it for ‘tension.”  Large tear filled eyes looked up at the gardener.  “I’m scared.  I want my Mama.”

Sam sat down on the floor beside the frightened lad and took him onto his lap.  He felt so sorry for Pippin.  Mister Frodo had never treated his little cousin so harshly, and he was already frightened from being away from his family.

“How about I sing a song for you, real quiet like so as not to bother the others?  Just for you.  Will that help?”

Pippin nodded.  “I like songs, Sam.”

Sam rubbed the lad’s back and sang to him until he fell asleep.  He laid the little one down on the soft pallet, covered him gently, then he went back to the party - or what was left of the party.  Frodo had fallen asleep in Bilbo’s favorite wingback chair and all the guests had, Sam hoped, managed to find their way to the guest rooms or home.  Sam covered his friend up with a coverlet then made his own way home.

During the night, Frodo awoke with a very recognizable and unpleasant feeling.  Moving as fast as he could he rushed to the privy to let his stomach empty itself.  Then he let his bladder empty itself before shuffling back down the tunnel towards his room.  With a jerk he stopped and stood swaying beside the door to little Pippin’s room.

“I seem to remember Pippin doing something last night, but . . . what was it?  Did I do something?  Say something?” Frodo wondered as an unpleasant guilty feeling stole over him.  “I . . . eh . . . I’ve the feeling I wasn’t very nice to him, poor wee mite, but I don’t really remember.”

Cautiously, as though there was a dragon on the other side of the door instead of a small hobbit child, Frodo opened the bedroom door.  By the light of the small lamp on the nightstand he could see the bed.  It was stripped to the ropes. The mattress and the linens were gone.

“Why did Pippin do that?” he mumbled aloud to himself.  “How did he do that?”

He looked toward the hearth and saw a small, comforter covered form lying before the now cold ashes of a small fire.  Though he wasn’t feeling all that steady, he quietly entered the room, put some kindling and a couple of small logs on the hearth, lit a new fire, then turned to look down at the small child.

Pippin had his head on his satin pillow, which he was also clinging to with both arms.  There was an air about the lad of someone who was sleeping soundly because they were exhausted.

“I’ve the feeling I didn’t handle things well,” Frodo mumbled again.  “I’m sorry, Pip,” he whispered to the sleeping lad, then shuffled out of the room and off to his own bed.

Morning came too soon for Frodo Baggins.  It came too soon and with smells that should have been most appealing but instead turned his stomach in unpleasant circles.  He lay staring at the wall, hoping the wretched feeling would pass when he heard a light tapping on his bedroom door.

“Huh,” Frodo grunted.

The door creaked open.  “Are you awake, Mr. Frodo?” Sam’s voice softly asked.

“Wish I was dead,” his master croaked.

Sam chuckled wheezily, “I’m bettin’ you do, sir, that’s why I’ve made up a batch of the Gaffer’s Cure.  Sit up now, Mr. Frodo, so’s you can drink it down.”

“Can’t sit up,” Frodo moaned.  “Will . . . I’ll . . .”

Sam quickly set down the mug of Cure, lifted Frodo’s head and got the basin he had brought in with him in place just in time.   When his master was done, he set the basin aside and helped him sit up.

“I’ll be right back, sir,” he said as he handed Frodo the mug of Cure.  “You just drink this down while I’m gone.”

Sam headed out, but paused at the door.  “No dumpin’ that out somewhere’s, Mr. Frodo.  Drink it down quick.  Straight down.  I’ll be right back.”  He hurried on his way before the smell from the basin made him ill.

Frodo held the mug up to his lips then almost gagged.  The smell was hideous!  But the Gaffer’s Cure was legendary in Hobbiton, so he held his nose and swallowed the foul smelling concoction.  At first he thought it was going to all come right back up, but within a few moments his stomach actually started to feel better.  Frodo leaned back and sighed.

“Well,” he said aloud to the silhouettes of his parents that hung on the wall opposite his bed, “I meant to get drunk, but I do believe I went too far.”  He sighed.  “I’m certain you wouldn’t have approved, Mum.”

Suddenly he was assaulted with the feeling of guilt that had come over him last night.  What had he done?  Frodo was trying to get his still fuzzy thinking to help him remember the night before when Sam came back into the room carrying a bed tray.

“Ya drank it, I see, Mr. Frodo.  A body can tell just by lookin’ that you’re feelin’ better.”

“I am, yes.  Thank you Sam.  That’s an amazing elixir your Gaffer created.”  Frodo paused, then with a wry grin added, “I’ll not ask what’s in it as I’m sure I wouldn’t like what I’ll hear.”

“Right you are about that, sir!” Sam said with a wink as he placed the tray over Frodo’s legs.  “Here’s a bit of dry toast and some tea for ya.”

Frodo’s grin was fading as he picked up the delicate tea cup.  “Sam?” he began, then took a small sip of his tea.

“Yes?”

“Eh . . . ah,” Frodo wasn’t sure how to ask what he needed to ask.  Sam noticed a blush rise in his friend’s face.  “Sam, did I . . . umm, do anything last night?  I mean,” Frodo rushed on, “something other than get horribly drunk?”

Sam decided to feign ignorance.  “Why, Mr. Frodo?”

“I . . . well,” Frodo took a bite of his dry toast, chewed it well, added a sip of tea, chewed some more then finally swallowed.  “This is perfect, Sam!  It isn’t upsetting my stomach at all.”

“You’re quite welcome, sir.” Sam replied pleasantly, but Frodo could tell his gardener was calmly waiting for him to get back to the other subject.

“I woke up last night and . . . uh, had to run to the privy.” Frodo said to his plate of toast.  “I was . . . eh, on my way back to my room when I stopped in front of the room Pippin is in.”  Frodo looked up suddenly.  “Is he still in his room?”

“No sir,” Sam said, working very hard at not smirking.  “He finished his elevenses and I took him down to visit with my Mum and Marigold before I came to look in on you.  My family got home just before elevenses, ya see, and I thought it might be good to tend to you without the wee lad about.”

“Good thinking, Sam.  Yes, good thinking.”  Frodo ate a little more then looked up at Sam with worried eyes.  “Did I do something bad last night?  I had the most terrible feeling of . . . well, guilt as I stood by Pip’s door.  Then I looked in and his bedding was gone.  The mattress and all, Sam!  However did that happen?  And the lad was laying on a pallet on the floor with the  child’s size comforter that he so likes when he is here put over him.  The fire had burned out and he just looked so . . . so”  Frodo’s gaze went back to his plate of toast.

Sam was glad to see his master’s discomfort.  He had been very unhappy with how he had treated his little cousin.

“He looked so, how?”

Frodo sighed heavily.  “Usually Pip looks so sweet and peaceful when he’s sleeping, but last night he looked troubled and exhausted.  It broke my heart to see him on the floor like that.”

A long, heavy silence filled the room.

“I just cannot seem to shake this awful feeling of guilt.”  Once more the sad, worried eyes looked up at the stalwart gardener.  “Did I do something wrong, Sam?”

“I would say you did, yes sir,” Sam replied firmly, without hesitation.

Frodo’s only response was to swallow hard at the lump in his throat before Sam continued.

“You had more to drink than you ought to have, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, then his voice softened a little.  “Mind, so did everyone else.”  He looked away and sighed.  “I would have too if I hadn’t told you I’d keep an eye on the lad.”  He brought his eyes back to his master’s.  “Master Pippin wasn’t his usual self, hadn’t been the whole time he was here, as you might have noticed if you hadn’t been havin’ the party on your mind, it bein’ such an important event for you and all.  He wasn’t at all happy to see his Pa leave, he wasn’t eatin’ as much as usual neither.  And though he did have fun with you and his other cousins, I noticed that he would go quiet some times, and look toward the front door, like he was hopin’ his Pa would come back for him.”

“I didn’t notice any of that,” Frodo sadly whispered.  He was looking at the toast on his plate again.  He hadn’t taken a bite since the discussion had started.

“No, I didn’t reckon you did, sir.  I told him three stories ‘fore he went to sleep and you and the others had done a goodly deal more drinkin’ by the time I came back to the party.  Mr. Rollo’s fiddle playin’ was getting rather wild and you were talkin’ a good deal louder than usual.  About an hour went by and suddenly Master Pippin was standin’ in the doorway, huggin’ that pillow of his and lookin’ upset and frightened.  He said he’d wet the bed just about the time I could smell the pee on him, me sittin’ by the door and all, I smelled it first.”

Frodo frowned.  “He’s a bit old to wet the bed,” he muttered to the toast.

“That was the whole point, Mr. Frodo.  The whole reason the lad looked as he did.  He was embarrassed.  That, and, I think he knew how important the party was to you and that he was not going to be welcome.”

Sam sighed and shook his head.

“I . . . I got upset,” Frodo said, nearly to himself.  “I remember it now.  I seem to be able to see myself getting upset as though it was someone else and I’m watching.”  He was still looking down.  “I’m yelling at him and dragging him off down the tunnel to his room and he can’t keep up, so he’s running and stumbling along after me.  I’m yelling at him and spanking him.  I . . . I told him to strip the bed and not drag the linens on the floor.”

Frodo paused, swallowing hard.  Tears had formed as he spoke and now trickled down his cheeks.

“Foolish thing to order him to do.  He’s too little to do any of that all by himself.”

“I took care of it, Mr. Frodo,” Sam’s voice was soothing.  He laid a caring hand on his master’s shoulder.  “I went after you, waited till you were done gettin’ your upset out, then I went in and took care of the lad.  Got the bed and him all cleaned up, got him calmed down and back to sleep.  By the time I went back to the parlor you were asleep and the others gone home or to the guest rooms.”

“The others!” Frodo sat up sharply, looking at Sam with a worried expression at the sudden reminder that some of his guests had intended to stay the night at Bag End.

“All taken care of, Mr. Frodo.  The Hobbiton lads had all gone home last night, and I got Mr. Rolo and Mr. Regie into the pony trap and carted them off to the Green Dragon after second breakfast this mornin’.  I . . . eh, I thought it might be best if they were gone by the time you woke up, sir.”

Frodo slumped back against the pillows.  “Yes.  Yes, good thinking Sam.  Good thinking.”  He sat quietly a few moments, staring down at the stone cold toast and tepid tea on the bed tray, then asked tentatively, “How is Pippin?”

“He’s sad more than anything, Mr. Frodo.  We had us a good long talk this mornin’ over breakfast.  I told him how sometimes folk have too much of good things and it makes them act poorly.”  Sam smiled and chuckled lightly.  “He said, ‘Like when I eat too much sweets and get sick to my tummy and throw up and have to go to bed?’  And I laughed and told him yes, sort of like that exceptin’ that when it’s ale and wine and such that folks have too much off it makes them behave different than how they usually behave.”

Sam paused.

“Pippin’s a right clever little lad, he is, knew right off what I was meanin’.  He said, ‘Cousin Frodo must of had too much ale and wine and such then, ‘cause he wasn’t being Cousin Frodo.’  I told him that was right.  He asked if you were still having too much of that stuff this mornin’ and I told him no, you wouldn’t be, but that you would be feelin’ like he does when he’s had too many sweets, and might he like to go visit with Marigold when she came home, and he said he would.  So that’s what we did.”

Frodo looked up with a grateful smile.  “You handled that all perfectly, Sam.  You really are a wonder.”

Sam blushed and was speechless.

Just before afternoon tea, Marigold brought Pippin back to Bag End.  Sam had fixed a light, but lovely, repast for Mr. Frodo and his young cousin, but he went home with his sister to have tea with his family.

Frodo sat at the head of the table with little Pippin sitting on his right.

“Please pass the sandwiches, Cousin Frodo.”

“Of course.  There you are, Pippin.”

“Thank you, Cousin Frodo.”

“You are welcome, Pip.  Would you pass me the scones?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like more milk, Pippin?”

“Yes, please.”

In between this rudimentary conversation the cousins were silent, which was highly unusual for Pippin.  They had also avoided meeting each other’s eyes.  It wasn’t until they were both picking at their custard tarts that Pippin finally brought up the subject they were both avoiding.

“I’m sorry you can’t send me home, Cousin Frodo,” Pippin mumbled as he stirred the custard around in it’s pastry shell.  It was one of his favorite treats, yet he had not taken a single taste of the tart.

“Send you home, Pippin?  Why would I send you home?”

“That’s what I would do if I lived in a nice hole and someone wet the bed.”  The last few words were said so quietly that Frodo barely heard them.  He was about to reply when the lad continued in his more accustomed fashion.  “But Ma and Da said that they didn’t know how long I had to stay away from all the sick people, and so I know you can’t send me home.  Maybe you can send me to the Gamgees.  Their hole isn’t as fancy as Bag End and they have had a lot of children, Marigold and Sam have told me there are six children in their family, and they most likely wouldn’t mind it so very much to have me visit them.  And Marigold said they don’t have any parties planned or nothing so that would be all right too.  I wouldn’t ruin anything.”

It always amazed Frodo how much the little Took could manage to say in one breath.  But this time that wasn’t what was foremost in his thoughts.  For a while Frodo let his thoughts coalesce; Pippin kept stirring the custard around in his tart.

“You are saying I should send you away because you did something bad?  Because I got very upset with you?”

The little lad slowly nodded his head without looking up from the well stirred custard tart.

“Pippin,” Frodo said as gently as he could.  “Look at me.”

A pair of tear-shiny eyes slowly met his own damp ones.

“Pippin, if anyone should be sent away for being bad or behaving poorly, that person should be me.”

Pippin’s little mouth slowly dropped open.  “But . . . but . . . You live here, Frodo!”

The elder cousin smiled wryly.  “Yes I do, but that’s what Bilbo should do to someone who misuses his nice hole like I did.  I wasn’t a good host, Pippin.  A good host should never get so drunk that he can’t care for the needs of his guests.”

“You took care of their needs, Frodo,” The lad said softly lowering his gaze back to the custard tart.  “You served a really good dinner and had all sorts of nice afters and things for filling up corners.  And they all said how good the wine and ale was.”

He paused then added, “They all seemed to be havin fun.”

“They?  You mean my friends who came to the party?  Well, I supposed they did, though I don’t remember some of the evening, and they weren’t my only guests.  Weren’t you one of my guests?  Weren’t you visiting Bag End?”

The little head nodded.  “But I’m just family and a lad.  I’m not a grown up friend.”

“A guest is a guest, Pippin, whether they are family or friend.  After all, everyone here last night was a relative, excepting Sam.  You were, are, no less a guest because you are my cousin, nor because you’re just a lad, and I didn’t take good care of your needs at all.”

Pippin looked up at his cousin, but didn’t say anything.

“I left you with Sam most of the day while I dallied about with rather unimportant parts of the preparations for the party.  I didn’t speak with you at dinner, and I most certainly did not pay mind to your needs afterwards either.”

“You tucked me in bed.”

 “Yes I did, but who told you some stories?”

“Sam.”

“Who had spent time with you all day, and who played with you while I was busy with my other guests?”

“Sam.”

“Yes.  Sam.  Sam was a good host, though it was not his place to be one.  He took care of you and all my guests.  He took care of me.  I was not a good host, and I’m certain that Bilbo will not be pleased when he finds out how I behaved.”  Frodo sighed and took Pippin’s hand in his.  “Pip, what you did was not your fault.  You had gone to the privy before you got into bed, just like you should.  You were scared and missing your family and what happened happens sometimes to young ones when they are afraid and feeling lonely.  Then, you were a very good brave lad because you came to tell me what happened so I could help you.  Did I help you, Pip?”

Pippin shook his head.  He blushed and lowered his head.  “No,” he sadly whispered.

“No need for you to feel badly about it, Pippin!  I was the one who was wrong,” Frodo softly exclaimed.  “Look at me, Pippin.”

The lad looked up.

“Now, you keep looking at me and answer my question.  Did I help you?”

“No,” Pippin said softly.

“No, I did not help you.  What did I do?”

“You . . .”

“It’s all right, Pip.  Tell me what I did.”

Out it all poured.  “You yelled, Frodo.  You yelled at me and your face got all red and you yelled and you pulled me down the tunnel and you spanked me and yelled some more and you said I just wanted ‘tension and you told me to clean up my mess and sleep on the floor.”

The lad was crying hard now and his speach had been peppered with many  sniffles and quick, shaky gasps.  The fear and humiliation he had felt the night before shown in his eyes.

Frodo hung his head, then suddenly went down on his knees beside Pippin’s chair, flinging his arms around his little cousin and hugging him tight.

“I’m so sorry, Pip!” Frodo sobbed.  “You didn’t deserve that.  I’m so sorry.  You weren’t naughty, I was!”

For a long while the two held each other and cried.  Frodo had never felt so horrible and was lost in a internal tirade against himself for being so harsh to his little cousin.  Then Frodo noticed one small hand was patting his back.

“It’s all right, Cousin Frodo,” Pippin was cooing in his ear.  “It’s all right.  Cousin Bilbo won’t make you leave.  I’ll tell him you didn’t mean it and he won’t make you leave.  I love you, Frodo.  It’s all right.”

Frodo’s heart took a moment to be amazed at the love of children, then he squeezed Pip a little harder.

“I love you too, Pip,” he whispered in the little ear that was brushing his lips.  “I love you and I promise you I will never treat you that badly again.”  Frodo pulled away to look into the child’s eyes.  He grinned at Pippin.  “That doesn’t mean you won’t get punished if you misbehave, young hobbit, but I will never be out of control with you again, and I’ll never treat you rudely when you come to visit.”

They hugged again.  As they did, Frodo’s glance fell upon Pippin’s stirred up, toyed with, custard tart.

“Your tart is looking a bit soupy, Pippin.”

Pippin looked over at the pastry.  “I sort of mixed it about too much I think.”

“Would you like mine?  I will be happy to swap with you.”

Pippin nodded and the tarts were exchanged.  Pippin dug in with all the enthusiasm of the child that he was.  As Frodo ate the soupy tart he felt it was the least he deserved for how he had behaved.

Pippin stayed for two weeks, the last few days of which Cousin Bilbo was back home at Bag End.  Bilbo was not happy to hear how Frodo had behaved, but was proud of how his lad owned up to his misdeed.  Frodo was never such a poor host again.