Chapter 1. The One that Almost Got Away

Splash!

The boy's head jerked up, and the sheepdog rose swiftly to its feet and whined, nose raised to sample the breeze. It was a large splash for a small stream, after all, and what could it portend?

The young hobbit was hardly frightened, here on his father's land, and he wasn't the kind who frightened easily, at any event. As a matter of fact, he was rather more inclined the other way, rather more bold and curious than was good for him. Or so his mother, a solid and steady Banks had been heard to say on more than one occasion.

To which his Tookish father would answer, after a shake of the head, that the lad was, after all, a Took, and descended from the Old Took himself, and so a little spirit was only to be expected.

To which the mother would sigh and observe that “a little spirit goes a long way.”

To which the father would heartily agree. It was why, more often than not, when Pip's older sisters or cousins were not keeping watch on him (he was, after all, only eight), Paladin was happy to set the lop-eared sheepdog on the task.

Lop, with his one ear that stood straight up and the other that flopped halfway, loved young Pippin next best to the sheep, and that was saying something. Theirs was a friendship from faunthood, more or less, for Pearl had taken the little lad when he was still tottering about in gowns, to see the new litter of pups, fat little balls of fluff with legs as unsteady as any faunt's. One of them had crawled with determination to the feet of the delighted young hobbits, sprawling at last in exhaustion upon Pippin's feet, enduring the clutching hands and squeals of glee, nay, enjoying its predicament, rather, with wags of its little tail and essays of a tiny pink tongue.

The pup grew more rapidly than the faunt, of course, and it was not too many months before he towered over his young lord. He was well brought up, however, and did not take advantage of his size, but obeyed lisping commands with adoration in his dark eyes, and a tail that waved delight.

He took to sheepherding as a duck to water, and his skill with the sheep stood him in good stead when it came to watching over the hobbit lambkin as well. He was a walking wall, keeping himself between Pip and danger (and Pip's mother from a good deal of worry into the bargain).

The dog rose at the splash, and Pip rose as well from the hole he'd been digging, here at the far end of the near field, just under the shade of the copse, the smial all the way across the field but still within sight. A little stream ran through the wood, between the near field and the far meadow, and sometimes Pip fished here with his father or uncle or a cousin, but never alone. Indeed, he'd never stood upon its banks without a hobbit companion, for the faithful dog kept him well away when no older hobbits were near.

But now the dog stood undecided, scenting the breeze, eyes intent, and then he stepped forward, further into the wood, and stopped again with another whine and an anxious, curiously eager look.

'What is it, Lop?' the lad said brightly, stroking the soft coat. 'What is it? A big trout?' It had been quite a splash, after all, the biggest fish he could imagine, and here he was without fishing gear. He was without an older hobbit, as well, but that didn't bother him. He was sure he could catch a trout, even the biggest trout, without trouble. Hadn't his mum exclaimed over the size of the last fish he'd brought home for her to fry?

He'd just go and see what was what. If he could spot the great fish in the stream, why, perhaps he and Lop might catch the creature together, gear or no gear. His Buckland uncle had told him all about how they sometimes tickled the fish out of the streams in Buckland... why couldn't a Took do just as well?

Oddly enough, the dog seemed of the same mind. He didn't try to bar Pip from the stream as he ought, but fell in beside the determined lad. They walked together deeper into the wood, in the direction of the great splash, Pippin's fingers still curled in the dog's fur.

When they came in sight of the stream, the dog sat down in dismay, his jaw dropping that he might pant his distress. The lad, however, broke into a run, tripping over tree roots in his hurry.

There was a Man in the stream!

...and not just in the stream, not wading, O no, but lying with his face in the water, yes, drowning in the shallows that were only knee-deep to a hobbit lad. There was no time!

No time to run back to the farmyard, shouting for help, no indeed, immediate action was needed.

Pip made a splash of his own, jumping from the low bank into the flowing water.

The man's hair waved gently in the current; his clothing was thoroughly wet, though the pack on his back remained dry, perched above the high water mark. (It was a good thing, too, but that comes later.) Pip knew the look of the pack; he gripped familiar shoulders, upon which he'd sat two years earlier, when this Man had found him wandering far from home and brought him to Bilbo's door.

'Robin!' he cried, shaking at the near shoulder, though he might as well have tried to move a mountain. 'Robin! Get up!' With a great effort, he lifted the heavy head out of the water, but he couldn't hold it for long. He gave a cry as his hands slipped, and the Man's face fell back into the stream. Surely the icy water would rouse him from his swoon! Surely Robin would waken! He had to!

But the Man did not move, did not lift his head from the water, did not seem to hear the summons nor recognise his peril.

Desperate, the boy turned. 'Lop!' he shouted. 'Come! Come here, sir! I want you!'

The dog leapt into motion, suddenly confident, and galloped into the stream, his splashing entry drenching Pip completely with icy water, though the young hobbit had more on his mind than his own comfort.

'Take hold, Lop! We've got to get him out of the water!' He grabbed at the Man's shoulder once more in illustration, pulling as hard as he could. 'Pull, Lop! Tug!'

The dog took hold of one of the shoulder straps on the pack and began a serious game of tug, more serious than any he'd ever played, and he was one who took the game seriously, indeed, in time of peace and pleasure. With the dog pulling in sharp jerks, and the lad pushing and lifting and rolling, somehow they moved the Man just enough to prop his head upon a rock, protruding near the water's edge.

Gasping for breath, the boy steadied the Man with one hand and pulled the lop-leaning ear with the other. 'Go!' he ordered, and pointed in the direction of the farmyard. 'Go home, Lop! Go home!'

The dog panted uneasily. He knew this command. Young Master Frodo would use it, when he was out adventuring with Pippin and a dog was not wanted. It did not seem to fit the situation, however. Young Master Frodo was not here, nor was young Merry, nor any older hobbit, for that matter.

'Go, Lop!' the young hobbit thundered, or at least he tried to thunder, as his father did, to the best of his eight-year-old ability. But the dog sat down in the water, icy as it was, and seemed inclined to stay.

The boy looked down at the Man's precarious position. 'I can't leave him,' he said, in part to himself, but also to the dog.

Lop whined at the entreaty in his tone, and his tail quivered in the water.

'Don't you see, Lop?' the boy said softly, in his most persuasive tone, and yet the dog could hear the sincerity there, and in response laid its great head upon his shoulder. He reached up his free hand to cradle the muzzle, and continued his entreaty. 'Don't you see? I cannot leave him. His face might slip back into the stream, and he'll drown before I can get help. I must hold him here, while you get help. You will, won't you? Go home?'

The dog whined again, softly, throat vibrating through the boy's soaked shirt, and the boy shivered in return. The water was so very cold, but he mustn't leave the Man. He mustn't. 'Go, Lop? Go home? Please, laddy-mine?'

It was as if the dog suddenly made up its mind, or perhaps understanding dawned, for Lop lifted his head from Pippin's shoulder and gave a ringing bark, and then he was gone, streaking away through the trees. He burst from the copse and raced across the field, stretched low to the ground in the way of sheepdogs, running at top speed, silent, intent on his course.

Arriving in the yard he found Pervinca, bearing a basket of eggs. He slid to a stop before her, barking, and she stopped still, clutching the basket, dumbfounded by this uncharacteristic behaviour.

This was not what was wanted. Lop dived at Pervinca, catching at her dress, to try to drag her after him. She screamed, now holding the basket before her as a shield, thrusting it at Lop to drive him away.

A hired hobbit came from the barn, hayfork in hand. 'What, Miss...?' he said, and seeing her apparently under attack, he held the fork low and ran at the dog, shouting.

Lop dodged just before he was spitted, stood to the side, barking wildly, as Eglantine hurried from the kitchen door, a dishcloth in her hand, and Pearl and Pimpernel right behind her.

'What is it, Ned? What's the matter?' she shouted.

'He's gone mad!' the hired hobbit shouted above the barking and Pervinca's screaming.

'Lop!' Pimpernel cried, 'Lop! Down!' but the dog would not heed, simply turned to bark and whine, almost dancing with eagerness.

'Lop!' Pearl added her own shout, but beside her, Eglantine put her hand to her heart in sudden comprehension.

'It's Pip,' she gasped. 'Something's happened to Pip!' And she stretched out her hand to the dog.

At the repetition of the name he loved best, Lop stopped his barking and ran to Eglantine, seizing her hand between his teeth, though so gently as to make no mark, and tried to pull her after him.

'He's mad!' the hired hobbit said again, advancing with the hayfork. 'He's gone mad with the heat!'

'Stay!' Eglantine shouted, and she pulled her hand from the dog's mouth to thrust her palm at Ned in commanding gesture. 'Put that fork down, Ned!'

Such was the force of her personality that Ned dropped the hayfork, and Pervinca stopped screaming and hiccuped, and her sisters fell silent.

Eglantine took the dog's head between her hands. 'Where, Lop? Where is he?'

The dog whined in answer.

Eglantine noticed for the first time the water that plastered Lop's fur to his skin. 'Wet,' she said, her voice shaking, and then, 'Water... the stream!'

She didn't stop to wonder why the dog had not kept her little son from the danger of the stream, but picked up her skirts and began to run toward the distant copse, and in a heartbeat the others were following after. Lop soon caught her and passed her, a white-and-black streak of damp determination, leading the rescue party, and when the hobbits reached the copse they were able to find him quickly by his barking.

He was standing in the stream once more by Pippin when they reached him.

The lad was kneeling in the water, his arms about the Man's head to steady him on the saviour rock, pale and shivering with cold, his lips purple and teeth chattering.

'Peregrin!' his mother cried, splashing into the water.

'I...' Pippin said, barely able to form the words. 'I... c-c-c-couldn't l-leave h-him...'

'No, of course you couldn't,' his mother said, lifting him from the water and passing him to Pearl's outstretched arms.

'D-d-drowning,' Pippin chattered, while Pearl wrapped her apron around him, and her sisters followed suit.

'Can you help me get him out of the stream?' Eglantine said to Ned, standing on the bank with his hands hanging at his sides.

The hired hobbit jumped into motion. He wasn't one to go into a stream, mind, but that the Mistress was there already, before him, and they very well couldn't leave the stricken Man there, now, could they? 'Aye, Mistress,' he said.

In the end, Pearl had to sit Pippin down on the bank, wrapped in aprons, and she and her sisters had to wade into the water to lend their strength to the effort.

When Pippin saw they were about to roll the Man over, he stood up and shouted, pointing, and somehow made them understand what he wanted.

'Of course, his pack is still dry,' Eglantine said, comprehending, 'and we might as well keep his belongings that way. He'll need dry clothing to change into, and certainly nothing of ours will suit!'

Ned managed to wrestle the pack from the Man's back, and carried it up the bank to lay it beside Pippin. 'Now you sit down where your sister laid you, young hobbit,' he said sternly, and Pippin sank down again, taking hold of one of the pack's straps and clinging there as if it might be a lifeline.

'Help him,' he said, still shivering, his eyes very large in his face.

'O' course we're going to help 'im,' Ned said. 'What did you think we were going to do?' And he pointed a stern finger. 'Now you stay there and don't worry yourself over what we're doing, and just let us do it, mind...'

The little lad nodded, swallowing hard, water dripping from his curls down his face, but he was wise enough to say no more.

Ned turned and went back down the bank, and he and Eglantine and the three girls pulled, and pushed, and heaved, and grunted, and somehow they got the Man out of the water and partway up the bank before they had to stop, to pant for air.

Lop helped as well, grabbing at the Man's sleeve and playing his most enthusiastic game of Tug to date.

At last Eglantine had to concede defeat. They could bring him no further, not herself and one hired hobbit and three young daughters, not by themselves. She laid her hand on the Man's neck to feel for the heartbeat. Fast it was, racing, and his skin was warm to the touch despite his soaking. Fever, well then, that would explain the swoon. They couldn't just leave him here, that was certain. They'd need more hobbits, and better yet, a pony, to bring the Man safely to the smial. She sent Ned off to fetch Paladin and the hobbits who were with him, working in the far fields on the other side of the smial.

As to where she'd put him, well, that was a matter for consideration. Before the kitchen hearth, most likely, largest fireplace as it was in the smial, large enough for a hobbit to stand upright, and broad. They could build up a roaring fire, put blankets down on the hearthstones close enough for heat but far enough to be safe from sparks, and they'd pile blankets over the top of the Man as well, though it'd take twice the blankets that a hobbit would need, to cover that length...

She blinked. Here she was, contemplating taking a perfect stranger into her home. But what else could she do?

'He's not a stranger,' Pippin piped at her elbow, and she looked down at him, realising that she must have spoken her thoughts aloud.

'Not a stranger?'

'No, of course not,' Pippin said. 'His name is Robin, and he's a friend of Uncle Bilbo's!'

A friend of old Bilbo's. Well, well. 'And what does a friend of Uncle Bilbo want, in our stream?'

Pippin shrugged. 'I don't know,' he admitted, hugging himself to rub at his arms with his hands. 'Perhaps he wanted to catch a fish. We do have some fair sized fish in our stream.'

Eglantine surprised everyone, herself included, by laughing. 'I'd say we do!' she said, when she could catch her breath. She raised her eyes then, to look through the trees to the field, and saw with relief her husband and half a dozen hired hobbits jogging across the furrows towards them.

'I'd say that we do,' she repeated, and then she hugged her shivering little fisher close and rubbed his back to warm him.