14 Wedmath, S.R. 1321

Bilbo was rather excited as he filled his pack. He'd been invited to visit Adalgrim and Periwinkle at Whitwell at harvest time. He knew he'd be working hard, but it would be a lot of fun to do something a little more strenuous than marking essays. Bungo had been feeling much better since his illness earlier in the year, and both his parents had encouraged him to make the visit. They knew he especially wanted to go, because Chop had also invited Siggy to come at the same time, and he'd not had a long visit with Siggy for more than a year.

Neither of his parents suspected his other reason for wanting to spend time at Whitwell. He had never forgotten the lovely Pomona and the time they'd spent together at the wedding of her sister to Adalgrim. He'd cast their meeting at such a time as an omen, remembering how his parents had met at the wedding of Adalgrim's parents to Cousin Rosa. Surely it was a sign. He was almost thirty-one, and Pomona was only a little over a year younger. They were at a decent age to begin a courtship, and he had high hopes.

They had not corresponded. But on previous visits to Whitwell, the two of them had talked, and she seemed to like him well enough. Perhaps since he'd be there longer, they could have more time for talking, and perhaps he could gain her father's permission to write to her, and maybe...maybe he could court her. He refused to think someone else might be courting her--surely it would have been mentioned in one of Chop's letters if there had been.

Yes, his hopes were quite high. He carried his pack out to the front hall, and went to have tea with his parents. He was planning to walk during the cool of the night, and perhaps sleep out under the stars; it wouldn't do to arrive at Whitwell in the middle of the night. Little Pearl had been joined last fall by baby sister Primrose, and he knew that the young parents would not be happy if he woke the little ones up so late. He'd sleep outdoors--a rare treat, and then arrive at their door in time for first breakfast if he was lucky.

After tea, his father embraced him. "Make yourself useful to your cousin and do not let him get you into trouble," he chuckled. That was no longer a worry. Periwinkle did not let her husband get himself or anyone else into trouble now.

His mother gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Enjoy your adventure, dear!" She handed him the food she'd packed for his supper into a neat bundle, and he attached it to his pack before shouldering it.

"Good-bye, Mama and Papa! I will write to you; and I should be home in about three weeks if the harvest goes well!"

He walked quietly down the lane, and then along the Bywater Road until he got to the Three-Farthing Stone, where he set forth across country. It was just under seven leagues from there to Whitwell. It would be half again as far if he took the Stock Road, and he'd have to go through Tuckborough. He much preferred this solitary walk through the fields and copses. At sunset he stopped beneath a leafy willow overhanging a lazy brook, and overlooking a pasture. He took out the bundle of food his mother had packed: a thick slab of ham between two pieces of thick and crusty brown bread, a couple of mushroom pasties, some cheese, a large pickle wrapped in waxed paper, a brambleberry tart, and a pear. He ate all of it except one of the mushroom pasties and the pear—he thought to save those for later in the night, for he knew in a few hours he'd be hungry again.  Just for fun, he leaned over the brook and tried to tickle up a trout as they'd tried to teach him to do in Buckland, but he had no better luck now than he'd had with his cousins along the Brandywine. Ahead of him the Sun was going to her rest, and painting the Western sky in vivid rosy reds. Behind him, the trees were lacy black against the indigo heavens, and a star or two had begun to twinkle above, but it was still a while before the Moon showed his face.

Once the Moon was up, and the Sun was down, the world took on a different cast. Shadows were different in moonlight than in sunshine, and the stars shone the brighter now that the Sun had completely set. A myriad of sparkles shone above as the stars had come out in all their glory, and Bilbo picked out a few of the constellations: the Plow, the Ladle, and there was the one star called the Mariner. His father had told him there was an Elven legend about that particular star, but that he had never come across it; Bilbo had looked for it in the Old Took's library once, but he had never found any trace of it. Bilbo sometimes wondered if there were such things as Elves. His mother assured him there were and that she had seen them. She always gave him a rather speculative look when she told him that--perhaps she thought he might see them too, one day. Or perhaps she was having him on. After all, his mother was a Took, and they did have a very odd sense of humour.

At the look of the surrounding countryside, Bilbo realised he had come a little over half the distance. He was getting tired, but he wanted to be closer to his destination before he went to sleep; after all, he'd brought no breakfast provisions. His mother had asked if she should pack him some, but he was certain he'd be close enough to get first breakfast when he arrived, and told her not to bother. If he camped now, he'd have to walk half the morning away on an empty stomach!

Thinking of food made him feel peckish, and so he considered having his last mushroom pastie and his pear, but he really ought to save that for just before he went to sleep. Then he noticed that to his right he was passing an orchard; perhaps an apple orchard? It was hard to tell in the dark without going closer.

Bilbo had never been a dedicated scrumper, though he had from time to time accompanied his cousins on raids in gardens or of the larders in the Great Smials. But after the Fell Winter, he never really felt right scrumping from anyone he didn't know could spare the food--after all, he could be taking the food out of their mouths. But even as his thoughts ran along those lines, his feet had been leading him nearer to the orchard; the trees were laden, and when he got close enough, he could tell most of them were not yet ripe. Still, there were always a few that might ripen early. There wouldn't be any windfalls yet. He'd have to climb.

His stomach rumbled. He sighed. It was either eat his bedtime snack now, and be hungry later, or climb up and scrump a few pippins. He ducked between the rails of the fence, took a deep breath, and made for the nearest tree. Chop and Siggy had taught him to climb, but it was not his favorite pastime. Still, he screwed himself up and then shimmied up to the nearest branch. There were no ripe apples there, but he spotted a couple on the next branch up.

He managed to find two that were already ripe, and two that were pretty close to ripe. He stuffed them in his pockets and made his way back to the ground. Back through the fence and he went on his way, munching the apples. They were quite tart, and the two that were still partly green were a little hard, but they would at least satisfy his demanding belly.

He ate as he walked and then tossed the cores away for the birds, and then he was reminded of an old Shire song. He began to sing softly:

Up in the green orchard there is a green tree,
The finest of pippins that ever you see;
The apples are ripe and ready to fall,
And Rolly and Robin shall gather 'em all.*

Sing hey! Sing ho!
To harvest we go!
Sing high! Sing low!
To harvest we go!

Out in the field the barley is gold,
The bread will be brown, the beer will be cold.
Now is the time, let the reaping begin,
And Rolly and Robin shall gather it in.

Sing hey! Sing ho!
To harvest we go!
Sing high! Sing low!
To harvest we go!

Down in the dingle the mushrooms are brown.
Penny Buns and White-caps all cover the ground.
Creep into the dell before the Sun’s up--
And Rolly and Robin shall eat them all up!

Sing hey! Sing ho!
To harvest we go!
Sing high! Sing low!
To harvest we go!

It was pleasant to be singing under the stars, and revived by the apples, he sang several other songs and walking a little more briskly. He was getting a little winded though, and passing a farmyard, he saw a well. He went over to it; like many hobbits who lived in the country, the farmer had left a filled bucket and a ladle on the rim of the well for thirsty passers-by. He took a deep drink, and splashed some of the water on his face, and placed a farthing next to the bucket in thanks.

He went on about another half-a-league, and then realised that he'd go no further tonight. He found a nice grassy spot beneath the canopy of an old chestnut tree, and shrugged off his pack and unrolled his bedroll. He finished off the mushroom pastie and the pear, snuggled up in his blanket and then drifted off to sleep, dreaming of the fair Pomona.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For an instant when he woke, he had quite lost his bearings. Then he realised he was sleeping outdoors and he was on his way to Whitwell.

And he had no breakfast. He gathered up his things and put his backpack on, and looked around. Now that it was day, he noticed that he was still a good league-and-a-half from Whitwell. It would be a long trek on an empty stomach. He sighed. He'd made this journey before and he always underestimated the time it would take him. Every time he swore he'd leave sooner, and every time he did not.

Trudging along he got his bearings and realised he'd yet to pass Tookbank. Perhaps he could veer towards the Road and purchase his breakfast at The Clever Fox.  He was feeling quite sorry for himself, when he heard a loud whistle, and the sound of pony hooves. He turned in amazement to see a most unexpected sight: his cousin Siggy on his pony Barley.

Siggy broke into a trot and soon caught him up. Bilbo was staring at him. "Where in the world did you come from?" he asked.

"From the Great Smials, of course," his cousin replied as he swung down from the saddle. You did know I was coming to Whitwell too, didn't you?"

Bilbo nodded. "But I thought you were probably already there."

"Well, aren't you lucky I wasn't. Come, ride up behind me—Barley can carry two. We'll go into the village and have some breakfast, and we can be at Chop's house in time for a second one!"

This was more than agreeable to Bilbo, and pretty soon they were trotting along towards Tookbank—from the pony's back, Bilbo could see the smoke rising from some of the holes, and the thatched roofs of the shops.

The Clever Fox was an unusual inn, for it was a smial rather than a building. It had once been the fine hole of a wealthy family, a very old family who had still proudly carried the actual name of Fallohide. But the family had died off generations back, leaving only two daughters who married into other families, and sold off the hole. The new owners had soon converted it into a fine inn.

The morning was pleasant, so Bilbo and Siggy brought their breakfast outside to one of the outdoor tables, and make quick work of their sausages, eggs, toast, fried potatoes and broiled tomatoes. They washed it down with a pot of tea, and sat there satisfied for a while, before they headed on their way.

The two cousins chatted awhile, as they trotted along on Barley's back, exchanging news and gossip. "It'll be good to see Porro again," said Siggy. Periwinkle's younger brother and Siggy had become quite good friends after the wedding.

"Any other news?" Bilbo asked. He was afraid to say Pomona's name—Siggy might tease him, or even worse, have news of her courting someone else.

"Not really," Siggy said. Bilbo let out a sigh of relief. "Oh—just one thing: last month Pomona went off to Michel Delving. She's apprenticed to a healer there! Can you imagine that?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

* The first verse of the song is a traditional children’s nursery song, slightly altered. The chorus and remaining verses are mine. This song first appeared in my story "Trotter".