Ham Gamgee was always careful not to speak ill of Mr. Bilbo, but my! did he have some queer practices!  Giving those as helped him a nice meal each year, that was a kindness, almost expected of the gentry except that one weren’t to have no expectations of them.  Giving them a fancy meal, that was a little daft.  Inviting them in, to dine at his table?  That—

Well, it was only once a year, but still!  What was the Shire coming to?

He’d started young Sam on the garden this year, showing him what was what far better than he could in their little kitchen garden at Number Three, and for whatever reason Mr. Bilbo had taken a right shine to him and now Sam was invited, too, never mind that he was only eight.  (Of course!  Why crack only halfway?)  Ham had had to impress upon his youngest lad the importance of deference twice over before they arrived, lest he start thinking that sitting at a gentlehobbit’s table give him any right over anything else.  Sam agreed so quick to it all that Ham weren’t entirely sure he’d heard half a word out of his mouth, but there was no helping it now.

Sam sat sandwiched between Ham and his wife, while Daisy and May were making so merry with Mr. Bilbo that Ham exchanged a look with Bell, knowing they’d both have to have words with their daughters, they were spending such time minding their son.  Hal was home minding Marigold, for not even Mr. Bilbo could argue that she was old enough for supper at Bag End, and Hamson…

Ham sighed.  He still missed his eldest.

Sam was behaving hisself as perfect as he could, though, tucking into his chop with the utmost relish.  Mr. Bilbo turned his eye on him.  “Now, young Sam,” he said, “are you enjoying your supper?”

Sam nodded eagerly.  “Very much, Mr. Bilbo, sir,” he said around a mouthful of chop.  Ham poked him in the rib to remind him to swallow first and speak later.

After Sam had swallowed, he opened his mouth again.  “Begging your pardon, Mr. Bilbo, sir,” he piped, “but what is it?”

Ham raised his eyebrows at this, but Mr. Bilbo took it all in stride.  “Haven’t you had lamb before, my boy?”  Then he blinked, muttered to himself, “No, perhaps not, how silly of me.”

Sam had dropped his fork, and was looking at his mum.  Bell was returning his look with some alarm, before she recovered herself and said, “Eat it, Sam, it’s all right.”

That should have been the end of it, but Sam seemed intent on doing his best, no matter how wrong it was.  He pushed his plate away and said, “Begging your pardon, Mr. Bilbo, sir, but I don’t think as I’m hungry anymore.”

Ham shot him a look at that, but Sam wasn’t looking at him.  He was looking at Mr. Bilbo, who looked as confused as Ham had ever seen him.

“Not even for dessert, Sam-lad?” said Mr. Bilbo in mock horror.

Now Sam looked at his gaffer, seeing what a mess he’d got into on his own.  Ham was shocked to see tears in his eyes.

“If you won’t have no more lamb,” said Ham, “there’s still taters, and greens, and all sorts of other things you can eat.”

Sam nodded fervently, and Bell pushed his plate back.  Immediately Sam began eating again, though he was careful not to touch the lamb.

After the supper was over, Ham made sure to stop by and have a word with Mr. Bilbo.  “I’d like to apologise,” he began—

“About Sam?  No need!  It was just a bit of a shock, is all.”

“You see,” Ham went on, “his mam made him a soft lamb when he was just a babe, for him to play with, and I’m afraid—”

“It’s quite all right, Master Gamgee,” said Mr. Bilbo.  “I couldn’t have known that, and you couldn’t have known I was serving lamb, and there was plenty else to eat besides.  No harm done.”

“If you say so,” said Ham.

That night, though, when they had tucked Sam into bed next his brother, Ham asked Bell, “You don’t reckon as he’s too old for a soft toy, now, do you?”

Bell shook her head.  “You know right well I’d coddle him till he turned eighteen, but no, bless you.  He’ll learn the difference soon enough, now we have a reason to teach him.”

“I hope so,” said Ham.

Bell snorted.  “Lamb, really!  Of all the luxuries!”