Chapter 3. A Problem for the Solving

Later that morning, not long after second breakfast had been cleared away and washed up, Eglantine had sat down to do some mending--Pip was still young enough to be hard on his clothes, and his knees and elbows seemed to wear right through. A knock came at the door, and Pimpernel carolled from the parlour, where she was dusting, ‘I’ve got it!’

Eglantine smiled at the joy in her middle daughter’s voice. Surely it would be a long wait from now until the Springtime, when the wedding was set, but the excitement of the previous evening was still in full force. She did hope that Paladin could persuade Ferdi to set up here, or in Whitwell, or even Tuckborough, which was not far away and full of Tooks who would pay good money for well-trained ponies. She nodded. Yes, Tuckborough would be a good choice, especially with Pearl already at the Great Smials with her husband and growing family.

And then she had to chuckle and shake her head at herself. As if it were her choice to dispose of her children as she would wish! No, they’d make their own decisions, but she dearly hoped that Nell would not be living in far-away Bridgefields...

‘Mum, someone to see the Took,’ Nell said, sticking her head in at the door of the little morning room where Eglantine did accounts, wrote letters, or sat by the open window to hear birdsong as she employed her needle. ‘Vinca’s bringing him some tea in the parlour...’

‘I believe they were working in the south fields today,’ Eglantine said. ‘There’s still a few days of bright sun before the rains come, and the more hay they cut, the better.’ They’d have plenty for their animals, and could always sell any extra at a good price to those who aren’t quite so hard-working as Paladin, should it prove a hard winter. It was said, too, that in the Days of Dearth the hobbits of the Shire had resorted to burning twists of hay, when the wood and coal ran out during that unnaturally long winter. Eglantine gave a little shudder. Paladin had cut his teeth on tales of the old days, as told by Bilbo, who’d had the longest memory of any hobbit they’d known.

‘You’re not taking cold, Mum!’ Pimpernel said, crossing the room to pull the window to, shutting off the morning breeze. She added, ‘I sent Hobson to fetch Dad.’

‘I am well, really I am,’ Eglantine said, rising and putting her mending aside. ‘You all fuss over me as if I’m an old hen...’ She gave her middle daughter’s arm a loving squeeze and headed to the parlour, where Vinca was just setting out a pot of tea, two cups, and a plate of scones fresh from second breakfast, no longer hot from the oven, but wonderfully tender and light.

‘Master Chubb,’ she said in warm greeting to the hobbit who rose to take her extended hand. ‘It is good to see you, this lovely morn.’

‘Aye,’ the grizzled hobbit said, shaking her hand and then sitting down in the chair Eglantine indicated. ‘Nice weather for the haying.’

‘Will you be breaking the ground for the winter barley next week, or have you already started?’ Eglantine said, pouring out a cup of the steaming tea and adding two lumps, per the farmer’s nod.

‘Well, now,’ Farmer Chubb said, hesitating, and then nodded again in thanks as he took the cup and lifted it to his lips for a heartening swig. ‘That’s just what I’ve come to see the Took about.’

‘Ah,’ Eglantine said, and as it was not quite time to go into talk of business, she turned the conversation to the farmer’s wife and daughters.

‘...and Lavvie’s all set now, in her new home with her husband, and sent word that they’re expecting their first!’ Farmer Chubb was saying as Paladin paused in the doorway. ‘And the wedding just a few months agone... and her older sisters also in waiting, with Lily’s second and Letty, it’s her third. The missus is beside herself with joy.’

‘Congratulations,’ Paladin said, entering the room. ‘A new crop of Tooks, due in the spring, eh? Fine news!’

Farmer Chubb rose to greet Paladin. His beaming face sobered as he added, ‘But that’s not what I’ve come for.’

‘Official business, eh?’ Paladin said, pursing his lips with a nod. ‘Well, then, let’s take ourselves off to the study and see if we can sort it all out.’

At the death of old Ferumbras, who died without an heir, the title of head of the Took family had passed to Paladin, and the change of venue reflected how seriously he took the responsibility. The parlour was for social calls, but the study was reserved for family business, whether it was keeping his accounts, ceremoniously paying the hired hobbits, discharging an unsatisfactory worker (this happened seldom, as Paladin was a shrewd judge of character in the first place), or meeting with visitors over something to do with the Tookland.

When Paladin had seen his visitor comfortably seated, he sat himself down behind the large, elaborately carved desk and clasped his hands together in a thoughtful attitude. ‘Well now,’ he said. ‘What is it that I can do for you.’

‘Well,’ Farmer Chubb said, looking down and shuffling his feet. He looked up again to say earnestly, ‘The missus and I, well, we’re not getting any younger.’

Paladin nodded encouragement.

‘Well,’ Farmer Chubb went on, after a pause. ‘Truth be told, Letty’s invited us to move in with her and her brood. Says the littl’uns need grands around to tell them stories and spoil them sweet, and...’

Eglantine, sitting quietly in the corner, smiled at the image. It was one of her great joys to “spoil sweet” Pearl’s little son and tinier daughter, whenever she had the chance.

‘...and I’m not getting any younger, you know.’

‘I know,’ Paladin said solemnly. ‘None of us is.’

‘But some of us is older than t’others,’ Farmer Chubb maintained stoutly, and Paladin affirmed as that he had the right of the matter.

‘Let me get right down to it,’ the good farmer said at last, after hemming and hawing around the subject for a few more moments. ‘I’m not any younger than I used to be, and this year’s ploughin’ and seedin’ and harvest was pretty much done by the hired hobbits, without so much help from me.’ From his tone, the thought obviously rankled.

Paladin nodded. He understood. He was out in the thick of it himself day by day, working alongside his son and hired help, a farmer born, son of a farmer and proud of it.

Farmer Chubb took a deep breath and plunged. ‘I’ve no sons,’ he said, and dropped his tone. ‘No blame to the missus, mind you,’ he said, ‘for all them daughters, well they’re a father’s delight.’ He hesitated. ‘But there’re no sons to pass the farm on to, and the daughters, well, they married hobbits with land o’ their own...’

Paladin nodded again, thinking he knew what was coming next. But he was in for a surprise.

‘Well,’ Farmer Chubb said, ‘this stranger from down around the South Farthing, he said he heard my youngest’d got married and moved away, and that I was farming with just the hired hobbits.’

Paladin sat up a little straighter. ‘What was a stranger, an outlander,’ he said, ‘doing asking about such personal business?’ He felt the stirrings of outrage. What did a hobbit from the South Farthing have to do with the Tookland?

‘Well,’ Farmer Chubb said, twisting his hat in his hands. ‘Well, he... he said he wanted to buy the farm...’

‘Buy it!’ Paladin said, exchanging a startled glance with his wife. Eglantine’s mouth was open in shock; she could scarcely believe what she was hearing. An outlander, wanting to buy Tookish land!

‘He... he offered a decent price for it, too,’ Farmer Chubb said. ‘But the missus said as I ought to consult with the Took...’

‘As you ought,’ Paladin said firmly. The farm, in actuality, did not belong to Farmer Chubb at all, but rather to his wife, a Took, oldest daughter of a Took who’d had no sons to pass the land on to. Tookish land remained in Tookish possession, passing down through the female line if necessary, to keep it in the family. Farmer Chubb’s children bore the surname “Took-Chubb”--even his sons would have, if he’d had any, that the land might remain Tookish in name as well as possession.

‘Well,’ Farmer Chubb said, spreading his hands to indicate his helplessness, ‘none of my daughters needs the farm, and as I’ve no sons to pass it on to. And he offered a fair price, a little low, maybe, but that’s what bargaining is for...’

‘You didn’t sell it to him!’ Paladin said, half-rising from his chair in consternation. Such a muckle of a mess as that would make, a legal tangle indeed! Tookish land was for the Tooks, and not for outlanders, and that’s the way things had been since Tooks had first settled the land, and the way it always would be, if Paladin had anything to say about it (which being The Took, he did).

‘No, no,’ Farmer Chubb said, holding his hands up in a calming gesture. ‘O’ course not! ‘Tis not my land to sell, after all, and the missus said to come and talk to you...’

Paladin sat down again with an oomph of relief. He was too busy with the farming to have to deal with legal entanglements, though he supposed he’d have had to leave his hired hobbits on their own, with the harvest, had Chubb foolishly entered into a contract of sale.

‘Well, then,’ Paladin said, pulling a piece of paper to himself and unscrewing the lid of the ink. He dipped his pen and scribbled as he spoke. ‘That’s good news. Who was this outlander, anyhow?’ The cheek of the fellow!

‘Some outlandish Southish name, Brandygirtle or some such,’ Farmer Chubb said.

Paladin looked to Eglantine.

‘Bracegirdle?’ she said brightly, trying to set the visiting farmer more at ease, to jog his memory.

Farmer Chubb scratched his grizzled head. ‘Might a’ been that,’ he said cautiously. ‘Not a name you’d hear hereabouts, anyhow.’

‘Well,’ Paladin said, sprinkling sand over the paper to absorb the wet ink, and then curling the paper to tap the sand back into its glass. He blew across the surface of the paper, just to make sure, and then he folded the paper carefully and took the time to melt a dab of sealing wax to fasten the page in its folds. He fished in the right-hand drawer, drawing out a heavy ring, stooping falcon cut into the stone, and pressed the signet into the hardening wax. ‘There,’ he said. ‘All official, it is. You take this to Tuckborough, to the Great Smials, where you’ll find Adelard Took.’

Farmer Chubb nodded; most Tooklanders knew Adelard, who’d been steward to old Ferumbras, and still kept the records at Paladin’s request.

‘Adelard’ll find a buyer for your farm, at a fair price to all concerned, and none of this outlander nonsense,’ Paladin said. ‘I’m sure there are plenty of Tooks, younger sons of farmers, who’d like to strike out on their own.’

‘O aye,’ Farmer Chubb said, taking the paper Paladin extended and rising from his chair, though his face grew long at the thought of younger sons, when he hadn’t even an older one. Still, it was no fault to the missus; she’d done her best by him, as he had by her. ‘I’d be happy to have just one son to call my own, but it wasn’t to be...’

Eglantine sighed in sympathy. She was glad she’d been able to give Paladin one son, at least. She smiled then, as Farmer Chubb turned toward her, and rose to take his hand in farewell. ‘Give my best to your missus,’ she said.

‘I will, that,’ Farmer Chubb said. And he did.