Chapter 19.

‘Well now,’ Hally said, recalled to the purpose of the moment. ‘You just sit there, Scar, and warm yourself, and I’ll--’ He bustled away as he spoke, to fetch one of the bowls of rising dough from the table. He brought it to the hearth and plumped it down on the well-swept floor. ‘Floor’s clean,’ he said in passing. ‘Just scrubbed it a little while ago, actually, as I knew we were going to be sitting down to bake our twists of dough. You want a clean floor for that sort o’ thing.’

The Man smiled at Hally’s important tone. ‘I’d imagine so,’ he said. ‘I’m told some folk keep floors that are clean enough to eat off of.’ His expression darkened, and Hally wondered what he might be thinking. On second thought, perhaps he didn’t want to know.

‘Rosie would be horrified at such a thing,’ was all he said in answer. ‘Fancy! Eating off the floor! As if one were a dog...’ He would have been greatly shocked and horrified, himself, had he known that Scar took his chance comment far more seriously than the hobbit did, for the idea would be passed along to places as far away as the Lockholes, to the torment of the prisoners there. “Courtesy of the Woodcarver!” would become a byword there, bringing trouble to the woodcarver and his family at a later time.

‘Any road, here’s a roasting fork,’ he said, taking one from the holder by the hearth and handing it to the Man. ‘Now,’ he added, digging into the bowl of dough. ‘We just form a long snake of dough and wind it round the fork, so...’ Soon he and Robin and the ruffian were toasting their bread dough over the coals, all, of course, breaking pieces off their own twists after they’d puffed up and turned golden brown and crusty on the outside, fluffy and steaming on the inside, to share with Buckthorn, who was too small to go so near the fire. Not long after, Parsley came out with Lavvie on her hip, wearing a proud smile, her hair carefully braided into a crown by her mother. Lavvie herself was looking quite fine for their company, her fine wisps of hair gathered together, tied with a bit of ribbon, sticking straight up in an exclamation point as a tiny tot’s hair is wont to do. Hally handed his fork to his older daughter and went to take the steaming teakettle off the hob, to brew the tea to go with their twists.

Scar kept his conversation to inconsequentialities: the miserable weather, for example, and his enjoyment of the fresh, hot twists of dough with Rosie’s excellent brambleberry jam, washed down with slurps of honey-sweetened hot tea. He smiled at the children all through that long visit, and at last, after slurping down the last part of a fourth mug of tea, reached out to tousle young Buckthorn’s curls. ‘You’ve a thoroughly nice family here, Hally,’ he said.

Hally laughed. ‘They all take after their mother, I deem,’ he said in answer. ‘How she came to marry a lazy woodcarver such as myself, is still a mystery to me, but I count my blessings each and every day.’

Scar shook his head with a smile. ‘Here,’ he said, and held out his roasting fork to Robin. ‘Put this away for me, laddie.’

‘I’ll be happy to!’ Robin said, and was as good as his word.

‘You’re not going already!’ Hally protested, and little Parsley leaned against the Man with a look of entreaty.

‘But you haven’t finished the story of the dog and the mouse…!’ she said.

The Man smiled on her, and Hally thought privately how pleasant things could be, were Lotho’s Men disposed to be friendly instead of bullying. Still, the forest Bolgers were buying the Men’s friendship with their efforts… He felt a little ashamed at this. They ought to have been kind and welcoming, without having any hidden motives. Perhaps if more Shirefolk were hospitable to these wandering folk, far from their homes, then they wouldn’t be so inclined to follow Lotho’s orders. But Shirefolk tended to be shy, and wary of strangers as a whole. Hally, himself, might have given any Men, especially those working for Lotho, short shrift at most, or more likely avoided all contact with the fellows so far as such a thing would be possible, were it not for this commission of the Thain’s.

‘Is something wrong, Hally?’ Scar asked. Quick, the Man was, and perceptive, the hobbit realised. He was no fool, and Hally would do well to remember that. He shook his own head, made a point of smiling ruefully.

‘It’s just, I hate the thought of you going out in that cold and snow again,’ he said. ‘Listen to the wind! And the flakes are still flying -- you know, you really ought to stop over until the storm blows itself out...’ He could scarcely believe he was making such an offer -- inviting a ruffian! ...to stay! Hally-my-lad, what are you thinking?

But the Man laughed, and there was real warmth in his expression as he answered. ‘I’ve other fish to be frying, though I must say this has been a pleasant time…! I never meant to stop so long as I have, as it is! Hally, you are the soul of hospitality!’

‘I thank you,’ Hally said, assuming a puzzled expression. ‘But you say that as if it’s not a good thing…?’

‘Ah, but it is a good thing!’ the Man said, and Hally read in his expression the unspoken words. For us. And for you as well. Scar added, ‘My fellows won’t be quite so comfortable as I’ve been, this past hour or two, and I must go round and be sure that they’re not freezing themselves in this storm.’

Hally’s eyes widened. ‘They’re out in this? Scar!’

The Man eyed him thoughtfully. ‘You object?’ he said.

Hally didn’t have to affect consternation; as a matter of fact, it was difficult to guard his tongue to avoid saying too much. ‘No hobbit in his right mind would be out in this weather,’ he said.

‘They wouldn’t, would they?’ Scar said.

‘Why,’ Hally insisted, ‘even I have been staying tight inside since this storm started -- I’ll only go out to the shed to make sure the goats have food and water, and to milk them, and to fetch in more firewood when we run low, but you won’t see me out in the Wood, chopping away at trees, not in this kind of weather, not hardly!’

‘Perhaps my Men are not in their right minds,’ Scar said, tilting his head slightly, as if waiting to see Hally’s reaction.

Hally chose to burst into laughter -- it was all he could think to do, and the good thing about hearty, belly-shaking laughter, laughing until it brought the tears to his eyes, was that it gave him time to think, and reassured the children, so that they laughed as well, though they didn’t understand the whys and wherefores of it all. All the better, it made him look foolish into the bargain.

Hally’s laughter was contagious, and soon the Man began to chuckle, and ended up slapping the hobbit on the back as Hally bent over, holding his middle, apparently overcome with merriment. ‘Ah, Hally,’ he said. ‘Take hold of yourself, there’s a good fellow...’

Hally came up again, eventually, letting his laughter subside into chuckles, and wiping at his eyes. ‘Oh,’ he gasped at last. ‘Oh, oh, that was a good one, Scar...’ And he gave a fine impression of someone fighting down a threatening recurrence of helpless laughter, even as he made the obvious effort to control himself, in order to seriously address a matter. ‘But, Scar, really, if you have any Men hereabouts, out in that storm, I beg of you, to go out and fetch them at once! Bring them in, let them warm themselves at our fire and eat of our good stew, lest they take some deadly harm from the cold! The thought that there might be someone out there in the freezing and the cold, why, it’s more than I can bear! And my Rose, should she hear of it…!’

‘Don’t you go telling Rosie, now,’ Scar said, suddenly grim.

Hally calmed at once, straightened, and looked at him, not having to affect surprise. ‘I -- I don’t understand...’ he faltered, feeling quite as foolish as he was attempting to seem.

‘I don’t want her worried about anything,’ Scar said, getting to his feet, careful not to upset little Parsley, who had been leaning against him. He bent down to lay a large but surprisingly gentle hand on the little girl’s head, as if in brief blessing. ‘You have the right of it… No one in his right mind would be out in this…’ He shared a smile with little Parsley. ‘You’ll just have to remind me, on your mum’s next baking day, to finish that story of the dog and the mouse.’

‘I will!’ Parsley said eagerly, and the Man laughed and straightened up.

‘Fine family,’ he said, as if to himself, adding louder, ‘Don’t you worry, Hally. I’ll be back.’

And if it sounded more like a promise than a threat, well, Hally gave all the credit to the sweet, welcoming innocence of his children.

Despite his assurances to Scar to the contrary, Hally did bring up the subject with Rosemary, as he brought her a plate of fresh-baked bread twists and jam and goats-milk cheese, along with a piping hot mug of tea.

‘Those poor fellows,’ she said, shaking her head and then sipping her tea thoughtfully. She dropped her voice so that the children, the younger ones playing near the roaring fire in the other room, under the watchful gaze of the older ones, wouldn’t hear. ‘Even if they are Lotho’s Men, and have been said to do some awful things to the hobbits hereabout...’ She put her mug down with a shiver, and drew her shawl more closely about her neck.

‘Do you want to come and sit by the hearth?’ Hally said. ‘It’s much warmer by the fire.’

‘Do you know, I think I will,’ Rosemary said. ‘Even this steaming mug cannot quite take the chill from the air, and while you’ve kept refreshing the bedwarmers below the covers, I fancy I can still see my breath in here!’

‘I fear you might have the right of it,’ Hally said, though it was not quite so cold as that. Some heat from the hearth did manage to reach the bedrooms, though not enough, in this kind of weather. ‘I think we may all take our bedding and sleep by the hearth this night...’

‘All snuggled together, and sharing our warmth,’ Rosemary said. ‘A goodly idea.’ She cocked her head to one side with a quizzical smile. ‘And think of it -- a huddle of ruffians, besides! How warm we shall be!’

Hally shook his head with a chuckle, though the idea wasn’t funny. No, not at all. ‘I rather doubt Scar will bring his Men here for more than a brief stop, short of an emergency,’ he said. ‘That one’s too bright by half, Rose-my-own. He won’t want his Men becoming overly familiar with -- or fond of -- Shirefolk.’

‘Difficult to keep order, if one is among friends,’ Rosemary agreed in a low tone. She sighed, and then echoed some of Hally’s earlier ponderings. ‘I wonder, if things might have been different, somehow...’

She lifted the coverlet, to reveal the sleeping babe, his face rosy from snuggling under the covers, and Hally quickly wrapped another shawl around the little one and carried him out to the main room. ‘Here,’ he said to Parsley. ‘Make a lap -- and you, Robbie, mind everyone just a moment more,’ -- for the lad had been watching over Buckthorn, and his sister had watched little Lavvie, and that way they were sure that neither of the small children would come close to the roaring fire in a moment of distraction on the watchers’ part -- ‘whilst I fetch your mum to her rocking chair...’

Parsley was glad to take the baby, and Robin took Lavvie on his own lap, and had Buckthorn sit facing them, and the older lad took Lavvie’s hands in his own and led the little ones in a rousing play of “pat-a-cake”.

Hally watched in satisfaction for a moment, Scar’s fine family echoing in his thoughts, and then turned back to the bedroom to escort Rosemary to the rocking chair.

With Rosemary supervising the children on the hearthstones, Hally was free to tend to other practical matters, such as the care and milking of the goats, and the fetching of firewood, just as he’d told the Man. While outside, he paused a moment to listen and look about, but heard nothing except the keening of the wind as it flung stinging snow against him. He shook his head. Surely Scar had fetched away his watchers to a warmer, safer place. He made several trips to fill the woodbox to overflowing. It looked to be a long, bitter night, and besides, he’d be firing two of the three bake ovens as well, letting them heat while he prepared dried fish and vegetables for a hearty soup, to go over the fire on the hearth. He’d bake up loaves of bread for the coming week -- ah, but fresh, hot bread would make a fine accompaniment to steaming soup this day! -- and buns and biscuits into the bargain.

Scar might have his own fish to fry, in a manner of speaking. Hally had fish to stew, and baking to do.