“You know,” Mr. Frodo said, “if you hadn’t dragged your feet so much you’d have saved yourself a lot of work, Sam.”

The sigh Sam heaved was so huge that Rosie’s arm, tightly linked in his, was lifted up a full two inches.  This was about the fourth time that Mr. Frodo had brought this up.  “Begging your pardon,” Sam said, “Master, but I weren’t quite expecting you to invite me and Rose in to impose upon you.”

“It’s hardly imposition!” said Frodo merrily.  “You certainly deserve it, and by default that means Rose does, too, and at any rate I’ve lived all alone for a very long time and maybe I just felt like the company.”

“Not getting into the argument of deserts again, but even if I’d have thought of that I’d hardly expect that to mean you’d ask us to be so improper as to redecorate Bag End!”

“And why not?  I’ve already told you I’m adopting you, and—”

“Will the two of you be quiet?” said Rosie.  “No offense intended, Mr. Frodo, but you sound about as bad as those two cousins of yours, and Sam, you’re only encouraging him!  And you’re making me interrupt you, and I’m sure as Shiretalk that Mum would take me to task if she knew that, because if you keep this up I shan’t be able to think straight for half a minute!”

There was a brief pause.  “Well,” said Mr. Frodo, “that’s that, then.”

“And there’s no need to chide Sam for dragging his feet.  That’s my job.”

Sam took the hint and pulled Rosie closer.  They had reached Bag End’s door, and Mr. Frodo pulled a key from a chain in his pocket.  Rosie raised her eyebrows.  “You’ve got a  lock, Mr. Frodo?”

“It’s rather necessary when half the Farthing’s convinced your home’s founded on dragon gold.”  He unlocked the door and ushered them inside.  “Never mind that Bilbo’s father dug the place long before he was born!”

Rosie had to smile at that—but two days ago, Sam had taken her aside and told her very quietly of the gold Mr. Bilbo had given him in Rivendell, expressly for them.

“Come to think of it,” said Mr. Frodo, “I hadn’t given any thought to keys.  I suppose there’d be a way to copy this one, but who knows when there will be Dwarves in the Shire again.  I shall have to write a letter.”

“You know,” said Rosie, “afore you left, I’d have called you daft for that.  We had to resort to barring the farm shut when the Troubles came.”

Mr. Frodo sighed.  “I hope that won’t be necessary for anyone’s peace of mind a few years hence.”

“I imagine it won’t be,” said Sam.  “After all, we’ve already torn the locks from the tunnels in Michel Delving, and folks are using them again.”

“Good.”

Sam gave her a reassuring smile, but Rosie wondered if he’d ever feel safe without a lock.

The sun was bright outside, so Rosie had to blink a few times to adjust to the dark panelling of the smial.  “Right,” said Mr. Frodo, taking off his coat and hanging it on a peg.  “Where shall we start?”

“The kitchen, I suppose,” said Rosie.  Truth be told, she was actually looking forward to getting a closer look at Bag End’s kitchen.  Once, around five years ago, her family had stopped by to wassail at Bag End and her hands had been enlisted to move a platter of biscuits into the parlour.  She knew she oughtn’t have, but her eyes had gone so wide at the shiny brass stoves—two of them!—that she had to dawdle a little…

How much had it cost to replace them?  Or were they somehow spared the sorry fate that the rest of them had had to watch, helpless—the lingering death of Bag End?

The kitchen smelt a little different, but otherwise it was just the same as when she had idled in there, so long ago.  The two stoves sat cheerily in the back, and between them was a table with gleaming white stone, and above and below and all round were oaken cupboards with little white porcelain knobs.  On the other side of the room was a small, surprisingly simple, kitchen table, laid out with placemats.  Under the window, raised so you could do the washing-up standing, was the washbasin, so that she could look outside while—

“Mr. Frodo?”

“Yes, Rose?”

“Why are the kitchen curtains so thick?”

“I don’t like being looked at while I cook.  Especially from outside.”

Sam frowned.  “You didn’t seem to have any trouble on the Quest…”

“Because I was being cooked with, not being… nosed after by half a dozen prying neighbours!”

Sam swallowed.  “Was—was I one of them?”

“No!  Well, yes, but—”

“Mr. Frodo,” said Rosie.  “What I mean to say is, I’d like these curtains to be replaced with some nice yellow gauze.  If it’s no inconvenience to you, of course.”

“Of course not!” said Mr. Frodo.  “Why?”

“I like the sun,” said Rose.  “Yellow tablecloths might be nice, too.  And a rug, under the washbasin, so if you spill, you won’t slip.”

Frodo nodded to himself, looking around the kitchen.  “Well, I did say you could change things, and—so you can.”

“Should I get a bit of paper?” said Sam.

“Yes,” said Mr. Frodo.  “It’d be good to write these down.”

They went through all the rooms, except for Mr. Frodo’s and the study.  Rosie tried her best to remember where each room was, if she was going to be living there, but there were so many, it made her head swim!

“Now,” said Mr. Frodo, when they were done, “have you given thought for which room you’d like to be yours?  You needn’t worry about the bed, or any of the other furnishings—I’ll have those moved around before you’re married.”

Sam and Rosie looked at each other.  “We want one within earshot,” said Sam.  “Just in case.”

“I had thought you might say that,” said Mr. Frodo.  “That’ll have to be the guest room next to mine, then—the walls of Bag End are quite thick.”  They walked back to that room, which was outfitted with a longer foot.  Had Mr. Frodo gotten that done for his gentry cousins, then?

“Are you sure you won’t mind?” said Frodo.

“Mr. Frodo,” said Rosie, “you know yourself that Sam wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if he thought you was hurting and he didn’t know!”

“Well do I know it,” said Mr. Frodo.  “But that wasn’t quite what I meant.  I mean, you know my hearing’s sharper now, and I shouldn’t want to pry, but…”

What?

Oh!

Rosie went bright red, and she looked at Sam again.  If anything, he was redder than she was, and she could see the fluster in his eyes.  “Rosie, if you want—”

Rosie swallowed and looked at Mr. Frodo.  “We’ll make it work,” she said.  “Plenty of folks round the Shire living with a wedded couple, in a lot tighter space, and no harm come of it yet.”

“As long as you’re certain, Rose.”

Rosie nodded, before she could talk or think herself out of it.  Sam took her hand and squeezed it.

“That’s settled, then,” said Mr. Frodo.  “I’ll have the bed moved in, and then you can come back and choose any furnishings you’d like.”

Sam went over to the window, opened it, and looked down.  Rosie followed him.  “Sam, what are you doing?”

Sam stood back up, face shining in the sunlight, and smiled at her.  “Planning our garden,” he said.