5. Undesirable Encounters

Later that afternoon, Samwise Gamgee could be seen hopping energetically along the path from town, in a peculiar zigzag fashion. He was actually hopping between footprints in the light dusting of snow, trying to follow the trail left by some unknown person hours earlier. Visiting town was always interesting to a young hobbit. He hadn’t seen Mr. Frodo, but Halfred had carried the heavy basket with the Yule tarts their mother wanted them to sell, and the baker in town had bought nearly the whole lot. Sam was now clutching a much lighter basket, containing one box of tarts, the only one left.

Halfred had seen some friends in town and lingered to talk, and Sam had grown tired of waiting. He’d begun following the sets of footprints so cunningly laid out in the snow, heading every which way. The particular set he was following now had captured his imagination because the prints were unusually large, even for a hobbit. Sam was convinced that they belonged to a dragon, and he was determined to follow the trail until he caught sight of the beast.

In fact, Sam had been instructed firmly by Halfred not to wander off, but Sam was unconcerned. Once he had seen the dragon, he would simply turn around and follow the footprints back the way he had come. Hal would most likely never notice his absence.

Sam paused to catch his breath. All this hopping was tiring work. He looked around and realized that he had come a good deal further than he’d meant to. He was out of sight of town already, and likely a third of the way home by now. Sam shifted his basket from one hand to the other and listened. He was quite sure he could hear footsteps approaching. Sam hadn’t passed anyone else on the path for quite awhile, and he suddenly began to feel uneasy, all alone on the winding white road.

Samwise was a sensible little soul, and shaking off his hesitation, he turned around and marched back toward town. He didn’t want to worry Halfred, after all. As he walked, Sam could hear the footsteps behind him drawing closer. The other hobbit would no doubt overtake him in moments, but that didn’t bother Sam. His short legs limited him to a rather slow rate of progress.

When the other hobbit appeared around the bend however, Sam began to regret his short legs. It was none other than Lotho Sackville-Baggins.

Sam had never had any contact with Lotho personally, but his eldest brother Hamson certainly had. Lotho was a year older than Hamson and Sam knew he was trouble. His brothers had warned him to stay away from Lotho. He didn’t know the particulars, only that a few years ago, Hamson had been hired to do some yard work for the Sackville-Bagginses, and Lotho had made Ham’s life miserable for the duration. There wasn’t really anything the Gaffer could do against folk so far above the Gamgees, so he’d warned all his children instead. Sam shook his head and wondered why gentlehobbits couldn’t all be like Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo.

Glancing behind him warily, Sam saw that Lotho had spotted him. He turned around again and kept his eyes focused straight ahead. Maybe Lotho would ignore him.

“Well, well,” came a drawling voice. “You must be a Gamgee.” Lotho was walking beside him now.

“Yes, sir.” Sam frowned. He didn’t like Lotho’s tone at all, but he knew it was pure folly to be rude to any member of a family of the Sackville-Bagginses rank.

“What’s in the basket, boy?” Lotho asked condescendingly.

“Just some tarts,” Sam answered, keeping his voice polite with an effort. He knew the older boy was toying with him, and Sam’s only hope was that they got to town soon. Lotho wouldn’t dare bother him if there were others around, surely.

“Let’s see, then,” Lotho said, and snatched the basket from Sam’s surprised fingers. “Hmm...” Lotho lifted out the box of tarts inside and pretended to scrutinize it carefully.

Sam realized with dismay that Lotho had stopped walking, and so Sam stopped walking too. He wouldn’t let Lotho steal his family’s basket and leftover tarts.

“Where did you buy these, boy?” Lotho asked, giving Sam a most unpleasant look with glittering green eyes.

“Didn’t buy ‘em,” Sam said. “Me mum made ‘em.”

“I don’t believe you,” Lotho said with a nasty smile. “I think you stole them.”

Sam gasped in shock. Theft was a very serious accusation. “I didn’t!” exclaimed Samwise indignantly, forgetting his effort to be polite. “Now give them back!”

“I shan’t,” said Lotho calmly, putting the basket behind his back when Sam, beginning to panic, made a grab for it. Lotho grinned cruelly. “You stole it, you filthy little liar, and I’m going to turn you in!”

Sam started to cry. He wished he had never strayed from Halfred’s side. What was this beast going to do to him? He grabbed blindly for the basket again, out of desperation, but Lotho gave Sam a shove.

Sam stumbled backward and fell on his rump in the cold snow, crying in earnest now. Lotho stood over him, holding the basket tauntingly out of reach, but Sam was too overwrought to make another attempt.

Lotho frowned. “Come on, you sneaking little thief, don’t you want your basket back?”

Sam just buried his face miserably in his knees, trying to block out Lotho’s cruel words. This caused him to miss the approach of another hobbit, this time from the direction of town.

Lotho didn’t notice the newcomer either, until he spoke.

“What’s the meaning of this?!” exclaimed a familiar voice. Sam lifted his round, tearstained face from his knees, and felt relief wash over him like a warm bath. It was Mr. Frodo standing in front of them, clutching a bulky parcel and looking angrier than Sam had ever seen him.

“Who’re you?” retorted Lotho.

“Frodo Baggins,” Frodo said shortly. Lotho’s expression changed at these words, and Sam was startled to see undisguised hatred in those eyes now fixed on Frodo’s white face.

“So you’re Mad Baggins’ brat then,” Lotho spat, green eyes glinting maliciously.

“And you are?” Frodo asked evenly.

“Lotho Sackville-Baggins,” Lotho replied, looming dangerously over the younger boy. Frodo, however, displayed no fear outwardly. Sam watched apprehensively. He didn’t think he’d ever seen someone as brave as Mr. Frodo.

“I really should have guessed that,” said Frodo. “I met your parents recently.”

“Then you know I come from a family of good breeding,” Lotho snarled, “something you’d understand nothing about, Bucklander!”

“Then show some good breeding and give Sam back his basket,” Frodo retorted.

“Who’s gonna make me? You?” Lotho drawled. Sam watched the confrontation anxiously. Lotho was nearly ten years older than Frodo and a good deal bigger. Lotho took a threatening step toward Frodo, but instead of stepping back, the smaller lad stepped right up to Lotho.

“Leave right now and never come near Sam again,” Frodo said in a low, intense voice. He was glaring into Lotho’s face, blue eyes blazing with a fury Sam had never imagined they could hold.

Lotho stepped back in surprise, mouth opening slightly. He glanced briefly at Sam, then his scowl was back in place, and he threw the basket as hard as he could at Frodo’s chest. Frodo caught it with an ‘oof!’ and stumbled back a step.

“Take it then,” Lotho spat. “But this isn’t over, Bucklander!” Lotho’s eyes glinted dangerously as he looked at Frodo, and then he turned around and stormed off.

Frodo set down the basket and came to crouch near Sam.

“Are you all right, Samwise?” Frodo asked, his blue eyes worried. He helped Sam to his feet and brushed the snow and dirt off his clothes.

Sam nodded wordlessly, staring back wide-eyed. He was quite in awe of Frodo’s courage, and touched beyond words that Frodo would defend him so.

“I’m sorry such a thing happened to you, Sam,” Frodo said then, scanning Sam’s tearstained face anxiously.

“Thank you for helpin’ me, Mr. Frodo,” Sam got out. His lower lip was trembling, and he met Frodo’s eyes hesitantly. Sam saw only sympathy and understanding in their sky-blue depths, and then Frodo pulled him close, rubbing his back soothingly as he cried.

After a minute, Samwise got himself under control with an effort and pulled away in embarrassment. It surely wasn’t his place to go crying all over Mr. Frodo. He was quite certain his Gaffer would have a thing or two to say about it.

But then Frodo was crouching in front of him, peering at him in concern and holding him steady with a gentle hand on his shoulder. Frodo expertly wiped Sam’s wet face and running nose with his own fine, embroidered handkerchief.

“Don’t let Lotho worry you, Sam,” Frodo said softly. “He’s just a very small-minded hobbit with a very small heart.”

Sam nodded, absorbing this, and looked up to see Frodo smiling slightly.

“In fact,” Frodo went on, “I ought to teach you a game I used to play, with the name of a bully who bothered me at Brandy Hall.”

“A bully bothered you, Mr. Frodo?” Sam said incredulously. He couldn’t imagine Frodo being afraid of anyone, but then he noticed Frodo cast a worried glance in the direction of Lotho’s retreat. Sam suddenly had the uncomfortable revelation that Frodo had been a great deal more frightened of Lotho than he’d let on.

“He certainly did,” Frodo said. “But I often amused myself by thinking of... additions to make to his name—er, ones that reflected his character.”

“Additions?” Samwise was curious. “How do you mean, sir?”

“Well, for Lotho—” Frodo paused to think. “‘Lotho the Lunatic’ might be appropriate.”

Sam grinned. He decided he liked this game. Frodo straightened and picked up his parcel and Sam’s basket.

“Now then, Master Samwise,” Frodo said. “Where are you supposed to be?”

Sam shrugged guiltily. “I was in town with Halfred, Mr. Frodo. We were gonna leave pretty soon, but I wandered off.”

“No matter,” said Frodo. “We’ll go back to town then and find Halfred. Come along, Sam-lad!” Frodo nodded in the direction of town and began walking, shifting his grip on his parcel and Sam’s basket.

Sam hastened to catch up. “Oh, let me carry those, sir!” the little hobbit exclaimed, and promptly seized both his own basket and Frodo’s parcel.

“Sam!” Frodo said, surprised. “You don’t have to do that. Truly!”

“I know that, Mr. Frodo,” Sam replied, abashed. “But I want to help you. And ‘sides, I’m strong enough to carry both of these!”

“Of course you are, Sam,” Frodo said. “And I’m glad of the help.”

The two lads walked in silence for a few moments, and then Sam grinned suddenly.

“How ‘bout ‘Lotho the Locust,’ Mr. Frodo?”

Frodo laughed. “That’s excellent! I was just thinking ‘Lotho the Lamentable,’ myself.”

“Lotho the Louse?”

“You are fond of vermin, aren’t you, Sam!” Both lads giggled.

“Well, there’s also ‘Lotho the Loud,’” Sam said thoughtfully.

“Or ‘Lotho the Lackadaisical’!”

“I don’t know that one, sir.”

“It means lazy, which would work just as well, now that you mention it.”

The boys soon got back to town and Sam was reunited with a very relieved Halfred. Once the elder Gamgee heard that Lotho Sackville-Baggins was about, he insisted that he and Sam accompany Frodo home. Frodo agreed readily, since he had been on his way home in any case.

The two Gamgees left Frodo at the path to Bag End and went into the warm, cheerful kitchen of Number 3, Bagshot Row. Sam went to play with little Marigold on the rug in front of the hearth, but Halfred sought out his father in the back room to relate what Sam had told him of the encounter with Lotho Sackville-Baggins.

Hamfast Gamgee listened to his second-born son gravely, puffing on his pipe all the while. When Halfred finished relating what Sam had told him of Frodo’s part in the incident, the Gaffer turned to look at his son in astonishment.

“There’s more to that Mr. Frodo than meets the eye, that’s certain sure,” Hamfast said. “An’ I don’t doubt that Lotho had it in for ‘im long before he ever laid eyes on the boy.”

“What do you mean, Dad?” asked Halfred, puzzled.

“Otho Sackville-Baggins was in line to inherit Mr. Bilbo’s fortune, y’see,” Hamfast explained. “When Mr. Bilbo adopted Mr. Frodo, he cut them Sackville-Bagginses out of a mighty fine fortune. I expect old Otho and Lobelia are pretty sour about that, and no doubt told their son about poor Mr. Frodo.”

Halfred looked worried. “We know Lotho’s a bully anyhow,” he said. “Do you s’pose he might try to make trouble for Mr. Frodo now, Dad?”

“T’wouldn’t surprise me a bit,” the Gaffer said with a sigh. “You tell Hamson, and you boys keep an eye on Mr. Frodo, Hal, as well as on your little brother and sisters.”

“Aye, we will, Dad,” Halfred said stoutly. The Gaffer clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder, and the two went back into the kitchen.