Chapter 2. To Land A Fair Sized Fish

'What's this? What's this?' Paladin panted as he came up to them. Though he was no longer a youngster, the farmer was powerfully built, well-muscled from his daily labours, for he was not the sort to sit back whilst others did the work. No, he was in the thick of it each day – and this day they had been raking and gathering the early crop of hay, cut a few days earlier and left in neat rows to dry. One hobbit would drive the haywaggon, several on the ground would fork the fragrant hay high onto the pile, and one or two tramped back and forth atop the ever growing heap, spreading the hay evenly and trampling it down to make room for more. The hobbits changed positions often, to spread the work evenly as well, and Paladin worked as hard or harder than any of his hobbits. 'A Man? In our little stream? And help is needed?'

Ned, fully winded, had gasped out Eglantine's urgent message, and that she had said that Paladin and as many helpers as possible were needed. Paladin, grasping the seriousness of the affair if not its details, left Ned in charge of the ponies, and led his workers in a charge across the fields, a hayfork in every hand, ready for battle or whatever other crisis might present itself. Tooks might not go about with bows on their backs, looking for trouble, but they had an inner core of toughness and were ready to stare a problem in the face, without blinking or shrinking, when it arose.

Considering how much taller the average Man was, compared to a hobbit, and the fact that his wife and children were involved, and it's understandable that the farmer hurried as fast as he was able, arriving breathless but determined, fork held before him.

Lop met him with tail-waving delight, dancing about, and in his excitement, showering the arrivals with a belated vigorous shake.

'He doesn't need to be spitted,' Eglantine said, rising to meet the rescue party, but keeping one hand on the fevered head in case the man should begin to thrash, and flop over into the stream once more, to risk drowning. 'You may put down the forks, for I doubt he'd the strength to threaten us, even if he were so inclined.'

'He's a friend of Uncle Bilbo's!' Pippin piped, jumping to his feet and scattering aprons to either side. 'He wouldn't threaten anyone! Truly, Da, he wouldn't!'

Somewhat relieved, Paladin thrust his hayfork into the soft earth, and bent down with his hands on his thighs, panting for breath. The hired hobbits, coming up behind, paused in confusion, but kept hold of their forks pending further orders.

'A friend of old Bilbo?' Paladin gasped, looking up. 'What's he doing in our neck o' the woods, then, indeed, what's he doing in our stream? Is Bilbo here? The old hobbit said he was to visit next week, not this!' And he thought of all the haying needing to be done yet, if he was to be able to set aside his work for a day or two to enjoy his cousin's visit properly.

'Well he's not in the stream, anyhow,' Eglantine said, 'but this fellow is, and he needs to be got out of the stream and into a bed... er, some blankets, in any event. We can make up a pallet for him before the kitchen hearth, perhaps.'

'What's the matter with him?' Paladin wanted to know. He'd caught his breath enough to straighten and approach the stream, managing to slip down the bank without splashing his wife overmuch.

'Fever, at the very least,' Eglantine said.

'Fever! And you're there, catching it!' Paladin said.

Eglantine made a wry face. 'Catching a fever's not so easy as catching an oversized fish,' she said. 'And if it's to be caught, well, then, Ned and the girls and Pip and myself have already put ourselves in its path, and we still couldn't budge him enough to get him up the bank and out of the water. And we simply cannot leave him here, whether he's a friend of Bilbo's, or not!'

'No, of course we cannot,' Paladin said with a sigh. It would be a trial if their kindness were repaid with his family and hired helpers all coming down with fever, in the middle of the haying, and with Bilbo due to come visiting with Frodo in only a week's time, but it couldn't be helped. It would be unconscionable to leave anyone, even a stranger, in an icy stream...

'Tam,' he said, turning to the nearest hobbit. 'Go back and unhitch one of the ponies from the waggon and bring him here.' To Eglantine, he said, 'I can see no other way to bear him to the smial, but ponyback. He's a fair-sized fellow...' He lifted the near arm of the Man and eased it over his shoulder, and raised his head to address the rest of the hovering hobbits. 'Well? What are you waiting for? Let's get him onto decently dry ground, at least!'

The rest of the forks were prudently stuck into the ground and the hired hobbits moved forward to help, each seizing some part of the Man or his clothing, Lop helping as well with a grasp of the Man's shirtsleeve in his powerful jaws. With a quick count and coordinated heaves, they hauled him up the bank, laying him on the grassy verge.

Paladin moved to shade the poor Man's face from the rays of the bright summer Sun, and looked to his wife. 'I think you'd better go and get those blankets ready for him,' he said, and then swept his son and daughters with his glance. 'And get yourselves out of those wet things, before you all catch your deaths!'