Chapter 6. Help Arrives

They did not gallop in wild abandon, as Frodo might have wished, for Bilbo set the pace. The older hobbit made concessions for the warmth of the day, and he alternated between a gentle canter and a trot. It was faster than a hobbit might go on foot, at least. Though the ponies’ hides were darkened with sweat, they did not break into a lather. Furthermore, when they reached the outskirts of Tuckborough, Bilbo pulled his pony down to a walk and waved to Frodo to do the same.

The tween thought he knew what his elder was about, and though he chafed to arrive at the farm, he understood that it was safer to walk their ponies through Tuckborough. He figured that once they rounded Great Hill, skirting the Great Smials, they’d enjoy the breeze of their ponies’ passing once more. He was wrong.

Knowing the way to Whitwell, and Whittacres beyond, had he been riding by himself he might have kicked his pony into a run. How he wanted to do so! Riding along sedately at a walk was tiresome, but having lived with Bilbo for nearly a decade, Frodo knew the older hobbit usually had a good reason for all he did.

…as was the case, as they walked their ponies down the farm lane that led to Whittacres. Bilbo patted his pony’s shoulder, no longer wet but crusted a little with dried sweat. ‘Nicely cooled out,’ he said. ‘I expect Dinny and his hobbits will still be in the fields, gathering as much hay as is hobbitly possible on such a glorious day! This way, my lad, you won’t have to walk the good beasts in circles to cool them sufficiently, whilst I’m in the smial dealing with my “old friend”, worrying about you with the sun beating down on your head until you’re quite as warm as a hard-ridden pony.’ And he looked at Frodo sternly, and the tween had the grace to blush.

‘Yes, Uncle,’ was all he could say, but it was enough, for Bilbo's face was wreathed in smiles once more, and he nodded his approval at Frodo's understanding.

Thus they were able to tie up their ponies in the shade upon their arrival. Bilbo insisted that they also loosen the ponies’ girths. ‘We’ll see they have a drink of water soon enough,’ he said. ‘But first, I’d like to see just which of my old friends stumbled into Paladin’s stream!’

Paladin himself met them as they walked to the smial. ‘Well come, cousin!’ he said to Bilbo, and then to Frodo, ‘Perhaps you might draw some water for your ponies? All my hobbits are in the field…’

Frodo nearly laughed aloud at Bilbo’s foresight, but instead he grinned cheerily and said, ‘Of course!’

Paladin and Bilbo stood looking after him a moment, then turned to the smial. ‘Thoroughly nice lad,’ Paladin said. ‘I’m so glad you rescued him from the Wilds of Buckland, Bilbo…’

‘He rescued me, rather,’ Bilbo said, ‘from a sad and lonely old age.’ And though he looked no older than he had from Paladin’s earliest memories of the hobbit, he nodded to emphasise the sentiment. ‘Best thing I ever did.’

Paladin laid a hand upon his cousin’s shoulder as they walked together. ‘I’m certain it is,’ he said, and smiled, ‘for both your sakes. Now, as to this Man…’

Paladin quickly outlined how they’d found the Man as they entered the kitchen, to be met by strong smells. Mardi was just removing a mustard plaster from his patient’s chest, and onions were simmering over the fire, obviously intended for an onion poultice to help laboured breathing. He looked up to say, ‘High fever, and water in the lungs…’

‘Old Gaffer’s Friend?’ Bilbo asked, crossing to the hearth and falling to his knees beside the propped up figure. He removed the warm cloth that rested over the Man’s eyes, dunking it in the basin, and exhaled in surprise. ‘Why Robin!’ he said. ‘What are you doing in the Tookland? You ought to have passed through Bywater last week! The children were looking for you in the marketplace, and were so dreadfully disappointed, and I had all the makings of a Prancing Pony feast all ready to throw in the pot and place before you on a platter…’

‘You know him?’ Paladin said, and shook his head at himself. ‘But of course you do; you’d hardly greet a stranger so!’

‘No, no, Robin’s a friend,’ Bilbo said. ‘He wanders the Shire in the fairest months of the year, doing a little work here and there where a Tallfellow might be useful, and amusing the children in the marketplace in various towns, with his little conjuring tricks and jests.’

‘He can pull a rabbit from his cap!’ Pippin said from his nest of blankets, where he’d insisted on staying to watch over the stricken Man. ‘Or even a teapot! Hullo, Uncle Bilbo!’

‘Hullo, young sprout!’ Bilbo said fondly. ‘Not traipsing across any fields today, are we? And how is Lop the Sheepdog this day?’

‘Lop is a hero! He went for help when we found Robin in the stream, and helped to pull him out.’

‘I understand you’re something of a hero yourself, young hobbit,’ Bilbo said, and the child giggled.

‘I’m not a hero!’ he said stoutly. ‘Heroes have swords!’ Though Lop obviously didn't have a sword, he did have sharp teeth, to keep predators from the flock, and so the young hobbit's logic stood, at least in his own childlike reckoning.

‘Do they, now?’ Bilbo said with the greatest of interest, and then he looked to the healer. ‘Old Gaffer’s Friend?’ he repeated.

‘It’s good to see you, too, Mr Baggins,’ Mardi said. ‘And no, I’m not sure that it is the Old Gaffer’s Friend, as a matter of fact, though he might well make its acquaintance yet, what with water in his lungs from – what they tell me – drowning.’

‘Found him face-down in the stream,’ Paladin said, and then corrected himself. ‘Rather, young Pip did. He must’ve lifted the fellow's face from the water just in time, for the Man was still breathing when we reached him.’

‘While there’s breath, there’s life,’ Bilbo said under his breath. He wrung out the dripping cloth and placed it on the hot forehead. ‘So what have you tried?’

‘Not much yet,’ the healer admitted. ‘I’m half afraid to give him anything, for fear the dosage either be too little, and do no good, or too much, and do great harm. What am I to do? Double the dose for a Man, of what I’d give a hobbit? What if our remedies are poison to him?’

‘I don’t think that should be a concern…’ Bilbo began, but Mardi wasn’t done.

‘He’s twice as tall as any regular hobbit,’ he said, ‘and yet Woodruff has told me that a Man eats half as much as any decent body ought.’ He looked from his patient’s face to Bilbo’s, honest worry in his eyes. ‘So how do I dose him and do good, without perhaps killing him?’