Justice

            “Just what d’ye think as ye're doin’ here, lads?”

            Sancho Proudfoot and his cousin turned in dismay from the bags they’d been filling with apples from Bag End’s orchard.  Gaffer Gamgee and his youngest son, that Sam, stood over them, matching disapproving glares on each face.

            Soon enough the two of them were busy, raking leaves and gathering windfalls—as well as apples shaken by them from the trees—for the cider press.  “Only fittin’ as you help set right what you’ve helped cause,” Sam sniffed.

            But from the top of the Hill Frodo winked down at them.