Sam worked in the garden, golden hair illuminated by the sun, strong back bent as he edged the flowerbeds with a shovel, turning over and exposing the rich earthy soil and wiggling wet earthworms. With a sigh, he stood the shovel upright and leaned on it, reaching into his back pocket for a handkerchief to wipe his brow, looking about as he took a quick respite from his labor. Despite the lateness of the season, the Shire was going through a warm spell, and the sun was particularly strong. Closing his eyes and grimacing, he stretched , rolling his shoulders to work out the kinks. His eyes opened to catch a glimpse of blue out of the corner of his eye, and he turned quickly to see his master, Frodo, standing in the shadows in the kitchen doorway of Bag End, smiling and holding up a glass of cool well water for Sam, inviting him over, as he sipped from his own glass.

Sam nodded gratefully, leaning his shovel against the nearby garden wall, and heading towards the door. As he approached, a face popped up over Frodo's shoulder - and then another. Sam froze briefly, his footstep faltering, then caught himself and continued on, his smile somewhat more forced than before. Meriadoc Brandybuck and Pippin Took - just what he needed. Merry and Pippin were cousins and friends of Frodo - good-hearted lads from two of the Shire's best families - but two greater rascals he'd never met. Worse, the more Sam frowned upon their actions, the more it pleased them to tease him. And so Sam generally kept out of their way whenever they made one of their frequent visits to Bag End.

Sam simply nodded a polite hello at the two new appearances, and then smiled at Frodo and thanked him as he took the glass of water from his hand.

"And what might be bringin' you two gentlemen to Bag End today, if I might ask, Mr. Brandybuck, Mr. Took?", Sam inquired quietly.

Pippin grinned widely. "Oh, just up to bring a bit o' fun into cousin Frodo's life, you know! We wouldn't want him to die of boredom here in Hobbiton, now, would we, Merry lad?"

Merry grinned back at Pippin, and then took on a show of seriousness and looked at Sam appraisingly. "Now, Pippin, perhaps Hobbiton's not so quiet a place after all; mayhap Frodo's Sam here knows where a couple of lads can have some fun in this neck of the Shire?"

"Can't imagine much 'ere that would be interestin' to the likes of you, I'm afraid; none of them fancy parties or nothing like yer used to," replied Sam, reddening and keeping his eyes on his glass as he drank.

Frodo cut in before either of his cousins could continue. "Enough, lads! I'm sorry if we're just not as exciting to you as your dear Buckland is to you, Merry, or Tuckburough is to Pippin - but I'm happy with Hobbiton just the way it is," Frodo said, with a look to his cousins and an appeasing smile to Sam. "I don't think you need to worry that it would be fatal to me," he finished, raising a challenging eyebrow to Merry, and thanking Sam as he took back the empty glass.

"Thankee for the drink, Mr. Frodo; I'll just be getting back to my edgin'", Sam said, nodding to the three as he backed away and then turned and walked back to his shovel. He didn't need to look back to know that Merry and Pippin were laughing as they and Frodo disappeared into the house, the door closing behind them. A couple of troublemakers, they were, Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin; sure they meant well, but everywhere they went they were always upsetting the applecart, and mixing things up. He hoped for everybody's sake that they would just leave things alone for once, this visit.

Merry and Pip flopped down into chairs across from the cool stones of the fireplace, grins stretching their faces, as Frodo more gracefully took a seat across from them, sipping his drink and eyeing his two cousins warily.

"None of them fancy parties or nothin' like yer used to!", said Pip, lowering his voice an octave in imitation of Sam's. Merry fell back laughing, then replied, when he'd caught his breath, "Can't imagine much 'ere that would be interestin' to the likes of you!", at which point he and Pip fell into each others arms, gasping and spilling their drinks.

Frodo straightened up and shook his head exasperatedly. "Merry, Pip - I'll thank you not to make fun of Sam and the way he speaks. There's nothing wrong with it."

"Nothing wrong with it? Oh, cousin, he's as country as they get! And here you are thinking of inviting him to visit the Buckland Ball with you? Why, he'll be the laughingstock!," cried Pippin. Merry brushed away tears of laughter, shaking his head slowly, "Pip's being a little harsh, but he has got a point, there, Frodo. Sam's a good fellow, but he's not exactly ready for Hobbit high society, you know. Perhaps you should rethink your idea?"

Frodo's brow wrinkled with concern, and he glanced towards the window, as if he could see Sam there. "Do you really think it would turn out that badly?" he asked, wondering. Frodo had been looking forward to taking Sam along with him to see firsthand the country that he'd spent much of his time growing up in, and the Buckland Ball had seemed like the perfect opportunity for him to show off Buckland at its best. Sure, Sam might be a little uncomfortable in new surroundings, but it never occurred to him how he might stick out in such a crowd. "I mean, I was meaning to get him ready beforehand, polish him up a bit...", Frodo's voice trailed off.

Pip whooped. "Never in a million years, Frodo! Why that speech has been bred into him through generation after generation of Gamgees; you can't turn a wild daisy into a blushing rose - it just can't be done!"

Merry added, "And even if you did - why he'd still be a Gamgee. Sam's a wizard with the greenery, but simply changing the way he speaks wouldn't cover up the the dirt of the garden on his feet. But Pip's right - you'd never get past his quaint ways of speech to begin with."

Merry stood, hands behind his back, and faced Frodo with the air of a teacher, gesturing towards the window, and Sam outside.

Merry:
Frodo,
Look at him, the true son of his Gaffer,
Condemned by every syllable to laughter.
By law he should be taken out and hung,
For the cold-blooded murder of the Shire tongue.

"Noooooodles!"
Heaven's! What a noise!
This is what the Shire population,
Calls an elementary education.

Frodo: Oh, Merry, I think you picked a poor example.

Merry:
Did I?
Hear them down in Hobbiton square,
Dropping "h's" everywhere.
Speaking Shire Talk anyway they like.
You sir, did you go to school?

Pippin (mimicking): Wadaya tike me for, a fool?


Merry:
Frodo,
No one taught him 'take' instead of 'tike!
Why can't the Hobbits teach their children how to speak?
Hear a Pincupman, or worse,
Hear a Bywaterman converse,
I'd rather hear a choir singing flat.
Chickens cackling in a barn
Just like this one!

Sam (outside):
Garn!

Merry:
I ask you, sir, what sort of word is that?
It's "Noodles" and "Garn" that keep him in his place.
Not his plain work clothes and dirty face.
Why can't the Hobbits teach their children how to speak?
This verbal class distinction by now should be antique.
If you spoke as he does, sir,
Instead of the way you do,
Why, you might be growing flowers, too.
A Hobbit's way of speaking absolutely classifies him,
The moment he talks he makes some other Shirefolk despise him.
One common language I'm afraid we'll never get.

Oh, why can't the Shire learn to set
A good example to people whose speech is painful to your ears?
The Hobbiton and Bywater hobbits leave you close to tears.
There even are places where Shire Talk completely disappears.
In Bree, they haven't used it for years!
Why can't the Hobbits teach their children how to speak?
Men all know the Common tongue, from the shore to the tallest peak.
In short, every Dwarf knows his language from "A" to "Zed"
(The Dwarves never care what they say, actually, as long as they
pronounce
it properly)
The elves all learn their Sindarin with the speed of summer lightning.
And even know their Quenyan, which is absolutely frightening.
But use proper Shire Talk and you're regarded as a freak.
Why can't the Hobbits
Why can't the Hobbits learn to speak?

Merry flopped back down on the cushions again, pleased with himself as Pippin clapped wildly and Frodo gave a few perfunctory claps with a grimace.

"I think you both underestimate Sam. I remember well all the time he spent learning his letters with Bilbo, and memorizing stories by heart. I believe he could learn anything he set his mind to - even to speak like a Bucklander, if that's what it took," Frodo said, his eyes meeting Merry's.

"Did you hear that?" Pippin gasped. "I believe that's a challenge, Merry!"

Merry nodded, not taking his eyes away from Frodo's. "I believe it is, Pippin. Frodo, do you know what you're saying?"

Frodo's jaw became set with determination. "Yes, I believe I do."

"Why, then, I think I'll call your bluff, cousin," Merry said, with a grin turning up the corners of his mouth, and a sparkle in his eyes, "And I think I know just the perfect wager. I wager that Sam will not be able to pass for a... a... a Baggins at the Buckland Ball, three months from now."

Frodo frowned. "A Baggins? Everybody will know he's not a Baggins; everybody knows who all of the Baggins's are! No, make it an... Underhill. Yes, that's it - that's a fine old family from the West of the Shire; I doubt if any of your kin are related to them."

Merry nodded, "An Underhill it is, then. But are you so sure you want to go through with this? Or, maybe I should say, are you so sure Sam will want to go through with this?"

Frodo's eyes dropped down for a second. He was remembering a conversation he and Sam had had just the other day. Sam had seemed to be setting his cap for Rosie Cotton for some time now, but with little success. Rosie seemed more attracted to the lads with the fancy clothes and the fine manners. Frodo had no doubt that Rosie was still just young, and that she would come around to Sam in time, once she'd seen through the surface glamor of the other lads, who did not have the strength of character or goodness of heart that Sam had. But Sam had seemed less certain, bemoaning his lack of the finer graces when around Rosie. When it came down to it, the thought of Sam marrying, and possibly leaving his job at Bag End brought a sadness to Frodo's heart; but he would do anything for his best friend, and if that meant helping Sam to get Rosie, then that was what he would do.

"Yes, Merry - I'm sure of it," said Frodo, his mouth smiling, but his eyes somehow saddened, and he and Merry shook on it, with Pip as the thrilled witness.

Sam was finishing up for the day, cleaning his gardening tools and setting them away in the shed, when he felt, rather than heard, somebody come up behind him. He straightened up and turned around to see Mr. Frodo leaning against the doorjamb to the shed, smiling. Sam smiled back.

"Evenin', Mr. Frodo."

"Good evening, Sam. Lovely day today, wasn't it?"

"A fine day it was, Sir, a fine day it was," Sam replied, wiping his hands on his trousers, unaware of the uncomfortable look on Frodo's face as he watched his actions, a look that Frodo quickly changed to nonchalance.

"Sam, how about a nice cool ale at the end of the day, while we watch the sun set?"

"Aye, that sounds right nice, Mr. Frodo, right nice indeed," replied Sam, as he followed Mr. Frodo out and closed the shed door behind him. A few minutes later they were sitting on the front steps of Bag End, each with a foaming mug of ale in hand, sipping gratefully.

Frodo looked over at Sam, who wore a look of contentment as he gazed across the Party Field over the rim of his mug. "Tell me, Sam - do you ever think about what you want out of life?"

Sam ducked his head shyly. "Well now, Sir, I can't rightly say as that would be proper. I mean, my Gaffer always said that we should be thankful for what we get, and not go wishin' on the stars for that as what we can't have."

"Far be it from me to ever contradict the Gaffer!" Frodo said, laughingly, "but surely you have something in mind - perhaps something closer and more attainable than the stars?"

"Closer than the stars, eh?", Sam pondered. "I suppose I do, but..."

"Go ahead, Sam", Frodo encouraged Sam softly, "what is it?"

"Well...", Sam began slowly, head down, face flushed,

Sam:
All I want is a hole somewhere,
Warm and snug from the cold night air.
With one enormous chair,
Oh, wouldn't it be hobbity?

Lots of food there for me to eat,
Lots of caring for someone sweet.
Warm face, warm 'ands, warm feet,
Oh, wouldn't it be hobbity?

Oh, so loverly sittin' abso-bloomin'-lutely still.
I would never budge 'till spring
Crept over me windowsill.

Someone's 'ead restin' on my knee,
Warm an' tender as it can be.
'ho knows the heart of me,
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly?
Loverly, loverly, loverly, loverly....

Sam's voice trailed off, suddenly grown husky with emotion.

Frodo couldn't help staring at Sam. He'd never heard Sam speak like that before, and he was surprised to find that it was shaking him to the core. He'd had no idea how strongly Sam felt about Rosie, but there it was, shining through all of his words. Suddenly Frodo wanted nothing more to grab hold of Sam and tell him it was going to be all right - he would make sure Sam found his dream of happiness with Rosie, no matter what. But he was afraid to go so far, so he settled for dropping his hand on Sam's shoulder, and meeting his shining eyes when Sam looked up.

"Sam, I think it's a fine thing to go after your dreams - and I think I can help you get what you want," Frodo said reassuringly. Sam looked back, face slightly puzzled, as Frodo pushed himself up to his feet, looking away from Sam, and towards the Party Tree. Hands in his pockets, his heart lighter with happiness at the thought of helping his friend, Frodo continued. "Sam, I know you think Rosie has been ignoring you because... well because you're not as fancy and polished as some of the other lads - even though we both know you're the best hobbit any lass could wish for. And, well... I think you could learn to be as polished as the best, if you'd like to. Why," said Frodo, spinning around with a grin, "I think we could even pass you off as the best of the Shire at the Buckland Ball, if we give it a try. I guess what I'm saying, Sam, is - I'd be glad to teach you - why, honored to teach you to be a gentleman - if you'll take my help."

"You... you're wanting to teach me to be... a gentleman, Mr. Frodo?", Sam said slowly, eyes wide.

"Yes, Sam."

"But... but my Gaffer, he'd -"

"Sam, Sam, we don't have to tell your Gaffer! Look, I've thought it all out. It's fall now, and you're almost finished in the garden for the year. We can spend the winter at it! I can - well, I can think of some reason for you to spend the winter with me, so we can work at it. And you don't have to act a gentleman all of the time - just when you're with the ladies, and at Buckland. Face it - it can only help you as you go through life." Frodo paused. "Let me give this to you, Sam. You're always helping me - let me do this one thing to help you." Frodo's eyes were wide with pleading as he strove to get Sam to raise his eyes up to meet him.

"We'd... we'd work together... all winter?" Sam said, whispering.

"Yes, Sam! I - I know what! I'll pretend to sprain my ankle! Then the Gaffer will have to lend you to me, to take care of me - and that's when we can work," Frodo's eyes were sparkling with the excitement of the idea, Sam could see. The excitement was irresistible, as Sam slowly smiled, despite his inner misgivings.

"Aye, Sir - thank you, Sir."

Frodo grinned and raised his mug, "To the making of Master Samwise!"

Sam groaned inwardly, but grinned back outwardly, clinking his mug with Frodo's, "To- what you said, Mr. Frodo, Sir!"

Frodo sat at his desk by the window, across from the fireplace. The crispness of autumn had returned again, and the fire was crackling in the hearth. Frodo stared at the fire, smiled, and returned to his writing. Strangely enough, there was a large white wrapping about one of his ankles, although the ankle did not appear to bother him.

A knock came at the door.

Frodo turned sideways, quickly propping his bandaged foot on the chair next to him. "Who is it?"

"It's me, Mr. Frodo - Sam Gamgee. Just me!"

Frodo breathed a sigh of relief, and brought his foot back to down to its normal position again. "Come in, Sam!"

The door opened, and Sam poked his head in, peering around the edge of the door until he saw Frodo. When he was certain Frodo was alone, Sam entered, closed the door, and stood nervously in the entryway, hesitating. He'd rarely been inside Bag End on a visit. To come in and help out Mr. Frodo, or, years before, Mr. Bilbo; to cook in the kitchen, or to visit at the kitchen door, but to come and sit in the front room as a guest? Surely he couldn't sit here - Mr. Frodo would be sure to think he'd get it... dirty.

Sam stood with his head down. "Er... I washed me face and hands before I came, I did," he said to the floor, and then looked up.

But Frodo shot a welcoming look Sam's way, "Come in, Sam, and don't be silly! " Frodo said, laughing lightly. Sam reddened a bit, but gave a quick smile of relief, stopped his fidgeting, and made his way to Frodo's desk. "The Gaffer says I'm to 'elp you out during the day while yer recooperatin'."

"That's wonderful, Sam! It's just as I'd hoped. Now we'll have plenty of time to get you into shape before the Ball," Frodo replied, bounding up from his chair with no sign of injury to give Sam a quick hug and a slap on the back. But his friend didn't seem quite so delighted.

"Well, I don't know as I feel alright 'bout 'avin' told the Gaffer a story like that...", Sam said hesitantly.

"But, Sam! You're doing me a great favor! You know how empty and boring it gets up here for me in the winter! And I know you're always saying how useless and underfoot you feel back home when there's no gardening to do. And if your Gaffer needs you for anything, we'll make sure you have the time to do it," Frodo said encouragingly.

A look of hope formed on Sam's face despite himself - then quickly was replaced by glumness.

"I just don't know, Mr. Frodo. It don't feel right tryin' to change me into somethin' I'm not - and somethin' I could never be. People will think I'm puttin' on airs and such, gettin' above my station." Sam shook his head, defeat in every line of his face. "I ain't the kind of person you are, Mr. Frodo - and I can't never be."

"You "can't" be", corrected Frodo.

Sam's head jerked up. "See? You think so, too!"

"No, no, Sam! I mean.. I mean the proper thing to say is "I can't be", not "I can't never be". "I can't never be" is a double negative - "can't never" means you "can". Do you see?", Frodo asked, peering at Sam's face, as Sam tried to work it out.

""Can't never" means "can"... ", Sam said thoughtfully to himself. Then his chin came up and his arms crossed his chest, as he put on his best "now that can't be" face: "Now that don't make no sense, Mr. Frodo! If you can't never, then you can't!"

Frodo smiled slowly, "So... you're saying "can't" and "can't never" mean the same thing?"

Sam huffed, "Well, of course they - wait... can't... can't never... I can't be... I can't never be... I can't be... I can't never be..." Sam stopped. "Well, when ye put it that way - it does seem a mite strange how they could mean the same thing. But... well, it still don't make no sense to me!"

Frodo laughed, shaking his head, "Ah, Sam - this could be a very long lesson..."

Sam looked puzzled. "Lesson?"

Frodo nodded. "Yes, lesson. The first lesson in speaking proper Shire Talk will be to avoiding the double negative. And, Sam - I do believe you can do it. In fact, I know you can." Frodo looked steadily at Sam, trying to give him the same confidence in himself that Frodo had in him, trying to will it into him.

Sam sighed, "Well... if we're to do this thing, I guess now's as good a time as any to start," and ruefully chuckled.

"That's the spirit, Sam, my lad!", Frodo responded exuberantly. "Now, let's get some parchment and we'll look at those can't nots and ain't nots and.... well, all of that whatnot!", and Frodo put his arm around Sam's shoulders as they confidently marched over to the desk and began.

Soon days passed, with Frodo and Sam involved in their lessons. Sam came up every day just before first breakfast to prepare the meal for them both, once Frodo found out what an excellent cook Sam was. There was nothing like waking up to the delicious smell of bacon in the air, thought Frodo, as he listened to the sound of Sam whistling or singing in the kitchen. The first days were a wonderful treat for them both. The two of them just sat and talked - probably the most relaxing breakfasts Sam had ever been treated to. And at each meal, Frodo introduced Sam to the intricacies of proper Shire table manners - at least the kind of table manners used at the more formal occasions in Buckland and Tuckborough. It seemed more than a bit foolish to Sam, having all of these different knives and forks and spoons for different things, when you didn't really need but one of each, but with Frodo's help he soon got the hang of it.

But the speech lessons were another matter. Sam's loose, relaxed way of speaking was constantly at odds with the careful, measured speech that Frodo insisted was the "proper" way of speaking. To Sam's way of thinking, it was like wearing a prickly, itchy wool jacket - but on his tongue, not his back. It was just that uncomfortable. And, the worst thing was that the harder Frodo pushed, the more Sam had trouble with it, and vice versa. It was as if Frodo took it as a personal affront that Sam wasn't able to pick up on the right way to speak.

It eventually got to the point where breakfasts between them grew to be silent affairs, as Sam often felt too nervous to speak for fear of being corrected - although sometimes he forgot and broke the silence, as he did this morning. He and Frodo had hardly said a word from the time Sam had entered the door. Yesterday's speech lessons had not gone well - like the day before, and the day before that - and each was feeling the tension that still hung in the quiet of the room. The sounds of Sam whisking the eggs and frying up the bacon stood out in the uneasy peace, along with the clinking of silverware and teacups on saucers. At last Sam couldn't stand it anymore and he spoke without thinking.

"'ere you go, Sir," Sam said quietly, placing a plate of eggs and bacon in front of Frodo.

"'Here' you go, Sam, 'here' you go - you're dropping your H's again," Frodo said immediately, without thinking.

"Yes, sir," Sam replied, wincing, walking slowly back into the kitchen with his head down, putting the tray down, and leaning heavily upon the sink. "Mr. Frodo? I - I have a job to do for me Gaffer this morning, if you don't mind - it won't take but an hour or so." Sam grimaced in anticipation of the answer he was sure would come, and he was not disappointed.

""My" Gaffer, Sam - we've gone over this a hundred times, "my " Gaf-father - oh, Shire, now you've got me doing it!, " came the voice from the front room, with a sigh. "come back when you're done, then."

"Aye- Yes, sir," Sam said and quickly left through the kitchen door. Hands thrust into his pockets, he walked down to the lane that ran along Bag End towards his home. Truth was, he didn't have a job to do for his Gaffer after all; he just needed to be outside, to breathe the fresh air, and to get away by himself sometimes, as bad as it made him feel to lie like that to Mr. Frodo. When that happened, he often found himself at the fence along the lane leading from Bag End to his house, where he would stand looking over the Party Field, staring off with a sad face until his breathing slowed down and he could face Mr. Frodo and the speech lessons again. Strange, he thought as he stood there. Not so long ago he was looking forward spending the winter in Frodo's company. Now... well, as his Gaffer would say, it's the job not started that takes longest to finish. After a time, Sam sighed, turned from the fence, and trudged back up the hill to Bag End - and Mr. Frodo.

After each of these tense breakfasts, the rest of the day would pass slowly, tediously, in one speech drill after another, with barely enough time for second breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, tea, and dinner. At times, Sam would stay and work with Frodo until the wee hours, drinking cup after cup of tea, voice going hoarse with the effort of training his mouth to shape the crystal clear ringing syllables that proper Shire Talk required.

Frodo sprawled in his favorite chair, hand shading his eyes, face appearing pained as he listened to the repetitive sound of Sam perfoming his vocal drills by the fire, late at night in Bag End. An empty wineglass and a bottle of red wine sat on the table next to him.

"In 'obbiton, 'ermione 'ardbottle makes 'oneypies that are 'ardly 'appenstance." Sam's voice was hoarse with effort as he repeated the nonsense verse over and over, the lit candle before him barely flickering.

"Try again, Sam," Frodo sighed, "Say the H's. Just like when you laugh: "ha!" - pronounce the H's. In Hobbiton, Hermione Hardbottle makes honeypies that are hardly happenstance."

"Don't feel much like laughin' right now, Mr. Frodo," Sam muttered, "an' I could do with one of them honeypies as well."

Frodo grimaced. "Sam, please - again. In Hobbiton, Hermione Hardbottle makes honeypies that are hardly happenstance. Try!"

"In 'obbiton, 'ermione 'ardbottle makes 'oneypies that are 'ardly 'appenstance," Sam repeated slowly, sighing. "It just ain't no use, Sir! I can't get it into this thick 'ead of mine - nor say it with this thick tongue. Please, Sir - can't we stop and try again tomorrow?"

Frodo rubbed his eyes. "I suppose you're right, Sam. But you've got to try harder; we've been at this for a solid week, and... well, we just don't seem to be getting anywhere. Not with your H's, not with your A's. " Frodo let his hand fall to the chair of the arm. "Don't you want to make this work, Sam? Surely this can't be harder than working hours on end in a garden. You have to concentrate, Sam - concentrate!"

Sam stared into the fire, away from Frodo. His jaw was working, clenched hard, as his face reddened.

Frodo got up tiredly, without looking at Sam, picking up the glass and bottle to put them away, and moving towards the kitchen. "Go ahead, Sam. Go home."

Sam got up quickly, hands clenched at his sides

"Aye- Yes, sir," Sam said and quickly left through the door and closed it behind him. As soon as he was out, he leaned against the door and gave a great sigh of relief. He was beginning to think he couldn't take it anymore - the strain between the two of them, thee constant nagging regarding his speech, without a moment of respite. In fact, he was immensely relieved to go. He was afraid that if he stayed at Bag End one more minute, he was sure he'd say something he shouldn't. It had gotten to the point where he dreaded the walks to Bag End every morning. Never had that happened before, in all the years he had worked for him. All of Frodo's insistence on the proper way to do this and proper way to say that - he never seemed to be satisfied. Sam tried hard enough - why couldn't Frodo just let him be?

Sam frowned. He thought perhaps he knew - and his brow darkened at the thought, despite himself. After all, Mr. Frodo was a gentlehobbit; what could he possibly expect of his gardener? Attempting to talk like a gentleman - ha! Could it be that this was all just a game? Could it? Ha! What a laugh Mr. Frodo must be having at his expense. Sam's color started to rise as he walked the path to his Gaffers', and he turned to lean on the fence facing the Party Tree, hands digging into the wood, knuckles white. A laugh at his expense - that must be it. Sam's eyes shone with a rare flash of anger at the thought. How dare he? Sam was a talented gardener and proud of it; didn't matter that he wasn't born into one of the "better" families - how dare Frodo think that way - how dare he!!!

Sam:
Just you wait, Frodo Baggins, just you wait!
You'll be sorry, but your tears'll be to late!
You'll be broke, and I'll have money;
Will I help you? Don't be funny!
Just you wait, Frodo Baggins, just you wait!

One day I'll be famous! I'll be proper and prim;
All the folk in the town will bow to me instead of him!
One evening the mayor will say:
"Oh, Samwise, old thing,
I want all of the Shire your praises to sing.
Next week on the twentieth of May
I proclaim Samwise Gamgee Day!
All the people will celebrate the glory of you
And whatever you wish and want I gladly will do."
"Thanks a lot, mayor" says I, in a manner well-bred;
But all I want is Frodo Baggins 'ead!"
"Done," says the mayor with a stroke.
"Guard, run and bring in the bloke!"
Then they'll march you, Frodo Baggins to the wall;
And the mayor will tell me: "Samwise, sound the call."
As you're kicked out of the Shire,
I'll shout: "Throw him in the mire!"
Oh ho ho, Frodo Baggins,
Down you'll go, Frodo Baggins!
Just - you - wait!

Sam stood looking off in the distance, jaw set, chest heaving, as the last of his words reverberated into the air. All was suddenly silent, and a change came over his face as he came to himself again and became aware of his surroundings - the crisp air, the glow of the windows from the holes beyond the Party Field - and, turning around, the warm glow from the windows of Bag End. Sam's face fell, saddened and ashamed. Mr. Frodo wasn't doing all of this for his own sake, after all. He was doing it for Sam's. And as aggravating as his teaching methods might be at times, Sam told himself that it was only because he must be a very difficult student to teach. After all, Frodo must expect something of him - or he wouldn't keep trying now, would he? In fact, anybody else would have given up long ago. Well, better that he let all the steam out here, where nobody could hear, than back there at Bag End! But, garn - he still missed the old ease between them - and he wondered if it would ever come back.

"That was a fine afters, Sam, thank you," Frodo said, smiling, as he pushed himself away from the table, and Sam started to clean up.

"Glad you liked it, sir," a tired Sam replied with a small smile, carrying away the plates of crumbs and empty glasses.

"Guess it's back to the lessons, eh, Sam?" Frodo called with forced cheerfulness after Sam, turning to look at him, but seeing only his back, which suddenly stiffened. Frodo's brow furrowed.

"Yes, sir," came a resigned answer from Sam, as he resumed his course to the kitchen.

Frodo stopped where he was, thinking, long and hard. His head bowed down as he mulled over his thoughts, and then came quickly up again. From the look on his face, he seemed to have decided something. His eyes followed as Sam quietly came back into the front room, a subdued but determined look on his face as he took up his seat to continue the lessons. Frodo took the seat opposite him.

"Let's see where we are now, shall we?" Frodo said gently. Sam nodded and looked up at Frodo.

"It's plain the rain falls mainly on the Thain," Frodo enunciated with care to Sam.

"It's pline the rine falls minely on the Thine," Sam said, as carefully as he could, only to see Frodo's face screw up painfully, before he could hide it.

"Oh, dear," sighed Frodo. "Well, let's see again about your H's. Try this, Sam: In Hobbiton, Hayfield and Heathtown, hobbits happily habitate in hillsides."

"In 'obbiton, 'ayfield, and 'eathtown, 'obbits 'appily 'abitate in 'illsides"

Frodo bit his lip and looked down, as Sam's eyes filled with tears of frustration and embarassment at disappointing his master, as he had so many times that day. He pushed himself out of his seat, and walked away, staring into the fire.

"It's no use, sir. I just can't do it! It ain't - it "isn't" in me. It just don't -doesn't - make sense to me, why it's so bloomin' important how I say me "Ayes" and me "H's"! As long as people can understand me - and they can - why should I care?!", Sam cried out, throwing his hands down and hanging his head, sinking into the couch in front of the fire. The room was silent for the first time that day, except for the crackling of the fire in the fireplace. Frodo sat in his chair, his face pained but thoughtful as he watched Sam for several long moments.

Sam heard the soft sound of footsteps as Frodo walked over and sat next to him, but he did not look up.

"Sam," was all that Frodo said, softly. "Sam." A hand fell on his shoulder, and Sam slowly brought his head up. Frodo's face was calm again, as he looked at Sam with a clear blue gaze. "Just think of what you're dealing with. The elves have their Sindarin and their Quenyan. The beauty of their languages is enough - to bring me to tears at times... and you, too, Sam. I know how you love to hear tales of Elves and to hear Elvish spoken." Sam listened with unwavering attention. "Dear Sam - it is the same with ourselves. Our Shire Talk - it's our Sindarin and Quenyan. The nobility and grandeur of language is the greatest gift we have. That's what you've set yourself out to conquer, Sam - and conquer it, you will. I believe it." Frodo smiled. "And now... I've kept you up too long again, and I am sorry. Tomorrow, we can start again fresh," Frodo paused, "but only if you wish to." Frodo gave Sam's shoulder a squeeze, then walked over and bent down to take a spill from the fireplace. After that, he straightened up and started walking towards his desk, to fill and light his pipe for his before-bed smoke. Sam's face turned thoughtful.

As Frodo filled his pipe and prepared to light it, his back to Sam, he heard the soft voice of his gardener float across the room - clear and measured.

"It's... plain the... rain falls... mainly on the... Thain."

Frodo's hand stopped in mid-motion, the flame halfway to his pipe, as his head turned quickly back towards the fireplace.

"What - did you say, Sam?"

Sam slowly rose and turned to face Frodo, his face a study in concentration - and surprise at his own utterance.

"It's plain the rain falls mainly on the Thain."

Frodo shook out the flame and set his pipe down carefully on his desk, his eyes not leaving Sam's.

"A- again?"

Sam smiled, and repeated, with utmost assurance, "It's plain the rain falls mainly on the Thain."and smiled.

"In... Hobbiton?" Frodo prompted hopefully.

"In Hobbiton, Hayfield and Heathtown, hobbits happily habitate in hillsides," Sam enunciated carefully.

"Sam!!!" Frodo cried with delight, running over to face his friend. "You did it! By the Shire, you did it!"

Frodo grabbed Sam's hands and pulled him to his feet, as together they started singing, laughing, and dancing about the room, like a couple of silly drunks.

"It's plain the rain falls mainly on the Thain! It's plain the rain falls mainly on the Thain! " Frodo and Sam sang together, as loudly as they could, dramatically whirling and twirling each other, taking turns as "the lady" as they danced giddily between the furniture, finally ending up in front of the fire, heads spinning.

The two of them fell back together on the couch, holding each other and laughing until their sides hurt.

"Oh, Sam - I'm done in for the night, Shire help me!", Frodo gasped, "You did it, though, Sam - by the Gaffer, you did it!" Frodo clapped Sam on the back, smiling proudly.

Sam beamed in response, "But I'd never 'ave... 'have" done it without you, Mr. Frodo! Lor, but you've 'ad - had! - the patience of an elf!". The idea of Frodo as an elf apparently struck them both as the most hilarious idea ever, as both of them began straining their sides with laughter again, gasping for air, until they had to hold each other up, heads on each others shoulders, panting as they finally quieted down.

"Oh, Sam... it was your work all along. And - and I'm not very proud of the way I acted... to tell the truth," Frodo managed to say, once he'd gotten his breath back, pulling back a bit to look at Sam, his face apologetic.

"Whatever do you mean, Sir?" replied Sam, face puzzled and concerned.

"I... I pushed you harder than I meant to, Sam," Frodo's eyes dropped as he continued, his face reddening, "and ... I forgot to treat you... like a friend. Like the friend you are to me, Sam." When Frodo looked back up, it was difficult for him to see Sam clearly through the pools of water gathering in his eyes and threatening to overflow. But Sam was having the same problem himself, as Frodo's words sank in. He bit his lip, eyes unsure. "Do ye mean, that - a friend? Sir?" Frodo nodded, not trusting himself to speak. And Sam lost his fight with his tears, as they spilled over, unnoticed by himself. "Same here, Sir," Sam whispered, as Frodo smiled through his tears, and each reached out to hold the other. "Same here," Sam repeated, comforting Frodo, as a sob escaped his master. Seconds passed, or minutes - neither could tell. But eventually the tears stopped flowing, and Sam and Frodo each seemed to return to themselves, as they pulled away, and fussed and fidgeted and adjust their weskits and surreptitiously dried their cheeks on their shirtsleeves.

"Ahem... emmm.... I'm... I'm afraid I'm rather done in for the night," Frodo announced, to no one in particular.

"Emmm.. right you are, Mr. Frodo - I think I'm done in myself. I best be going - ahem - that is "I had better be going now" replied Sam, grinning regretfully, getting up, and then, with a teasing look on his face, turning and bowing with a grand sweep of his arm towards Frodo, "Good night, Sir!", he said, looking at Frodo, who sheepishly grinned back, and Sam turned and left Bag End, smiling.

Sam walked down the road from Bag End that lead to his Gaffer's house, smiling, and humming to himself, half-walking, half-skipping along. All at once, his face came up and his humming turned into a song....

Sam:
Bed! Bed! I couldn't go to bed!
My head's too light to try to set it down!
Sleep! Sleep! I couldn't sleep tonight.
Not for all the jewels in a crown!

I could have talked all night!
I could have talked all night!
And still have talked some more.
It's like I spread my wings
And did a thousand things
I've never done before.

I'll never know
What made it so exciting.
Why all at once
My soul took flight.
I only know when he
Began to talk with me
I could have talked, talked, talked all night!

(Sam arrives at his Gaffer's, opens the door with a broad smile on his face, then walks in and shuts the door.)

At the same time, Frodo is standing in the front room of Bag End, a bemused look on his face, speaking to himself as he taps out the unsmoked contents of his pipe and starts to blow out the lights:

Frodo: I can't believe how The night's been grand, now... It's time to go to sleep.

(Frodo blows out the last candle at Bag End - darkness)

Frodo fussed over Sam, pushing his hair away from his face, adjusting his weskit, checking to make sure his handkerchief was properly placed. It was driving Sam batty, to say the least.

"Mr. Frodo - please!" Sam pleaded, swatting Frodo's hands away from his hair. "Please, sir - if I'm not ready now, I never will be!" Sam sighed in exasperation. "It's been two months of lessons after all!" Sam groaned dramatically, making Frodo chuckle despite his look of worry.

"It wasn't all terrible, now, was it, Sam?" Frodo asked, still looking Sam over carefully.

"Well..." Sam paused, until he'd made Frodo look up with concern. "No, sir - it weren't - wasn't - all terrible," Sam laughed, and Frodo's face relaxed with a brief smile.

Frodo stepped back, eyes worried, lips pressed tightly together, hands fidgeting as he tried to keep them in his pockets, resisting the urge to find another miniscule piece of lint to pick off of Sam's coat.

"I just want to make sure you look right, Sam," Frodo said nervously. "Now, do you remember what we talked about? You're to avoid all subjects of conversation other than the weather and one's health; stay calm during the races; remember your H's and A's ; and whatever you do, don't let Merry and Pippin get to you." Frodo finished, looking at Sam intently to make sure he understood.

Sam nodded obediently, then said with amazement, "Mr. Frodo - I do believe you're more nervous about this than I am!"

Frodo's eyes opened wide with surprise - and then crinkled as he smiled and chuckled. "I guess I am at that, Sam. I just want everything to go smoothly for you. After all, this will be your first try at "proper Shire society" - and your first chance to see if all the work you've done these last two months was worth it. I just want you to be proud of what you've done."

"Well - I'll do my best to make you proud, sir," Sam said.

"Now - no more "sir" while we're here - remember that," Frodo said sternly, then his expression softened. "You're a gentleman here, and remember - more than half of being a gentleman is thinking of yourself as one. The rest is carrying yourself properly, dressing well, and speaking correctly. But being a gentleman is the most important part." Frodo stepped back and scrutinized Sam with a critical eye. "And I think you're ready."

"But... what if somebody recognizes me? Somebody other than Pippin or Merry, that is?", Sam said worriedly.

"Don't worry, Sam. This race is very exclusive; I don't expect to see anybody from outside of Tuckburough there, and you don't know anybody from Tuckborough except Pip. This is the first time I've even been to the race - but Pippin's talked enough about it that I feel like I've been there. And Pip's talked his parents into having us at their table - Shire knows how, but you know how persuasive that Took can be," Frodo calmed Sam, with a wry smile on his face. "And, of course, there's no more perfect place to try out the correct way of speaking; after all, that's something the Tooks have never caught onto, Shire bless them!" Frodo and Sam both laughed.

"Then... after you, si - Frodo..." Sam said as he smiled and gestured with his hand.

"No, Sam - today, it's after you," Frodo chuckled, as he bowed to Sam and gestured forward. Sam's eyebrows went up briefly - and he walked out of the side room and out into the sunshine - and into the throng attending the Shire's premiere horserace, the Tuckborough Trials.

The sun was shining brightly on the colorful group of hobbits gathered at the Tuckborough race track to watch the Shire's fastest ponies go through their paces - and, more importantly, to socialize - to see and be seen. The Tooks were a wild lot, to be sure, and each seemed to try to outdo the other with the brightest weskits and prettiest dresses as they braved the early winter weather to celebrate the birthday of the founding Took with a race in his honor.

Tuckborough Crowd:
(singing with a thick Scottish accent)
Ev'ry Took who's worth his beer is here
Ev'ryone who should be here is here.
What a smashin', positively dashin'
Spectacle: the Tuckborough op'ning day.
At the gate are all the ponies
Waitin' for the cue to fly away.
What a grippin' absolutely rippin'
Moment at the Tuckborough op'ning day.
Pulses rushin'!
Faces flushin'!
Heartbeats speed up!
I have never been so keyed up!
Any second now
They'll begin to run.
Och! A bell is ringin',
They are springin'
Forward
Look! It has begun...!

The sound of very mild thunder could be heard as several ponies with hobbit jockeys raced around the track, and all in attendance stopped talking to watch intently, until the ponies crossed the finish line, and betting slips were torn up and thrown to the ground, or waved victoriously in the air.

What a frenzied moment that was!
Dinnae they maintain an exhaustin' pace?
What a thrillin', absolutely chillin'
Runnin' of the Tuckborough op'ning race.

Sam and Frodo strolled over to the finest table at the track, that of the Thain of Tuckborough, from whom they had received an invitation, courtesy of the Thain's son and heir, the incorrigible Pippin Took. As expected, both Merry and Pippin were already there, enjoying the lavish spread and generous drink provided.

"How kind of you to invite us, Master and Mistress Took," Sam said stiffly, with a bow, as he stood before the Thain, Paladin Took, and his wife, Eglantine. Merry turned and raised his eyebrows to Pippin, who did the same in turn, both attempting to contain their amusement, as they had promised Frodo they would, when all of the arrangements were being made for this initial trial of Sam's new "refinements". The Thain and his wife were surprised and impressed by Sam's show of formality and good breeding, and quickly rose to their feet to return the bow, gesturing for Sam and Frodo to join them.

Frodo gave a little smile at the results of the experiment so far. "Yes, Paladin and Eglantine, it was very good of you to invite us to the races. Let me introduce you to Sam... Underhill - a distant relative of mine whom it has been my pleasure to host during his visit this winter." The Thain and his wife nodded, intrigued by the idea of a relative of the Baggins' that they were unfamiliar with.

"A relative, you say?" The grating voice came from the other side of the table, from a personage whose back had been turned as they approached the table, doubtless because she was busy berating one of the servants for serving her tea that was not boiling hot. Frodo gave a start as this person turned about to face them - for it was his least favorite relative, the dreaded Lobelia Sackville-Baggins! He looked to Merry and Pippin for an explanation, panic on his face, but was met with sympathetic but unhelpful shrugs. Apparently they had also been unaware that Lobelia would be joining the Thain for the races that year. Frodo dared a glance at Sam - Sam's face was pale white and drained of all color. Lobelia S-B would love nothing better than to spread news of the game Frodo and Sam were playing all over Hobbiton - and she would be sure to paint it in the least complimentary light possible.

"Sam... Underhill, is it?" Lobelia S-B's voice was annoyingly grating, but made even worse by the chill that went up Frodo's spine as she leaned forward, eyes squinting, to take a closer look. "Never heard of him!", she huffed dismissively, turning back to the view the throng.

Frodo and Sam turned to each other, wonderingly. Could it be that she truly did not recognize Sam Gamgee, Frodo's gardener? Was it possible? Frodo's brow furrowed in thought, and then his face relaxed, smiling. Of course! Why on earth would Lobelia ever have even bothered to glance at Sam back in Hobbiton? To her way of thinking, a gardener was beneath noticing - and the finely dressed, neatly combed hobbit sitting across from her, with the dirt laboriously removed from under his fingernails only with the most vigourous scrubbing - could in now way remind her of Frodo's gardener. Frodo looked encouragingly at Sam, surreptitiously patting his hand under the table to calm his fears. A bit of color came back into Sam's face, as he nodded lightly at Frodo. He then took a deep breath and turned to the Tooks, who had been helping themselves to more scones and jam in the meantime, and had completely missed the exchange with Lobelia S-B.

"Excellent weather we're having, wouldn't you say?" Sam uttered nervously, as Merry winked and Pippin shot him a thumbs up from beyond Pip's parents.

"Quite nice, quite nice," agreed Eglantine, taking another bite of scone.

"Well... a bit dry for my likin'," drawled Paladin, "'twon't be good for the spring plantin', I'm afraid - too dry, too dry. We need a bit of rain before next spring." He emphasized his statement by looking frowningly up at the sky.

"Ah...", said Sam, his eyes brightening with interest, "My father would..." Sam suddenly remembered himself and quickly mumbled the rest into his tea, "would have something to say about that."

Paladin looked at Sam with interest. "Now, what would he be sayin' about that, now?"

Sam turned to Frodo with a panicked look, but Frodo was unable to help him - there was no easy way out of this now. He would have to keep talking.

"Erm.. ummm... " Sam hedged and hawed, "he would say "If December brings cold and snow to the land, the wheat will grow, even in the sand""

Paladin nodded knowingly at the old saying, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

"That's nice, my dear . Now - where did you say your family was from?", Eglantine inquired politely.

Sam's eye widened like a rabbit's in lamplight, as he nervously licked his lips. "Emmm... my father also says: "No snow, much rain, costs the crops a lot of pain"", he offered in reply.

Eglantine and Paladin exchanged small looks of puzzlement. Paladin took over: "Yes, Mr. Underhill that's very interesting... indeed. But your family -"

"And the higher in winter the snow, the higher in summer the grass", Sam cut in quickly, before the Thain could continue.

Frodo colored and quickly looked down into his teacup. Paladin's brow wrinkled in puzzlement, while Eglantine simply looked concerned, and Merry and Pippin looked on with ever-widening eyes.

Sam looked ready to sink into his seat with embarassment, but he found himself unable to stop. "Much snow, much bread?" he said weakly to the befuddled Thain and His Lady.

Suddenly Merry startled the entire table by jumping out of his seat, drawing the attention of all away from Sam. "The next race - it's about to start! Come on - let's get down to the fence before they do! Frodo, Sam?" Sam and Frodo looked up gratefully and politely but quickly excused themselves from the table to join Merry and Pippin as they went to find a good place up at the fences to watch.

Merry elbowed Sam, "That was a close one, there, Sam! Never pique a Took's curiousity - they're insatiable!" Merry grinned at Pip, while ducking a whack to the back of the head.

Sam looked sheepishly at Frodo, and then back at Merry, "I'll keep that in mind, Master Merry, I'll keep that in mind..."

Pippin rushed ahead to the fence. "Quick!", he called back, "They're about to start! I've got my money ridin' on Ninnyhammer, there - go Ninny!", Pip shouted.

Another hobbit at the fence turned to speak to Pippin, "Ninny's the one, alright - let's just hope her jockey keeps the whip on her, like he should, and she'll come around. He'd better - after all, he works for me." The speaker grinned smugly, "Yep, I knew she was a good little filly when I bought her; but now I've whipped her into shape - so to speak." Frodo stopped and closed his eyes - for the second time that day, they'd run into a Sackville-Baggins. Only this time it was Lobelia's weasely son, Lotho. Of course, he should have guessed Lotho would be here if Lobelia was. But what cursed luck! He turned to look at Sam - and saw Sam's face slowly turning red as he stared at the unsuspecting Lotho. Frodo grabbed Sam's arm.

"Hold it, Sam! Hold on there, now, and don't go starting a fight. You know Lotho has straw for brains, so just ignore whatever he says now. Just take a deep breath... that's right," Frodo whispered to Sam, trying to calm him down. Frodo knew how Sam's temper rose whenever he heard of somebody possibly mistreating an animal - and that fact that this was coming from Lotho S-B didn't help matters.

"Awwww... shove it, Lotho! If I'd known she was yours, I never would have bet on her!" Pippin retorted, and turned his attention back to the race. "Come on - GO!!!"

And so the race started - 5 laps around the course. Ninnyhammer was away at the start, far in the lead of the other ponies. The crowd cheered the favorite on; even Sam and Frodo got into the shouting, as Ninnyhammer rounded the first lap, jumping up and down and slapping each other, Pip, and Merry on the backs. But by the end of the first lap, the lead was closing, and the jockey started laying on the whip. As close as they stood, the hobbits could see the pony jerk with each lashing, drawing looks of distaste from Pip and Merry, who favored Lotho in turn with dirty looks. Frodo became concerned and turned to check on Sam -only to see his face grimly wince with each stroke of the whip on the pony. Frodo shook his head - what was he thinking bring Sam to a pony race like this? But this race would soon be over, and Frodo could get him away from here before Sam got too upset - or so he thought.

"That's it! Push her, push her! Lay it on her! Don't you hold back now while I've got my money riding on you, Ninnyhammer!" screamed Lotho at the rider and the pony as they ran along the backside of the track, coming in for the end of the second lap, the jockey nodding that he'd heard, and "laying it on" as he was told. Lotho turned, surprised, when he suddenly found the firm hand of a large golden-haired stranger firmly gripping his shoulder.

"That isn't right. Please tell him to stop," Sam said slowly and firmly.

Lotho shrugged off Sam's hand, annoyed. "I don't know who you think you are - but it's my pony and my jockey - I'll have them do as I please!" Lotho squinted at Sam, and turned back to the race.

"No, you won't. Stop it now - or else. No more whipping - the pony's goin' into a froth, and it'll be the death of 'er", Sam repeated, pulling Lotho around again to face him, his careful way of speaking slowly going back to its natural rhythms as he grew more and more upset.

Lotho gave the stranger a bemused smile, looking up and down at his fine clothing, so at odds with this forward way of acting, and that strange country gruffness coming out in his voice. "Leave off, you!", he replied coldly, "Nothing wrong with a good whipping for a pony! As long as she wins this race, she can keel over and die afterwards, for all I care." Lotho turned back to the track. "Faster!! Faster, I say!!!", Lotho screamed at the pony and rider as they came around the third lap, hanging onto the lead for dear life. Unfortunately for him, he missed the look on Sam's face behind him as it turned deep red.

"That's enough!" shouted Sam as he gripped Lotho's shoulder for a third time and spun him around to face Sam - and Sam's fist moving quickly towards his face. As it made contact, Lotho fell back against the fence, and into the arms of his friends, who quickly took it upon themselves to launch themselves at Sam. Sam, in turn, waded into the melee with both fists flying and was soon joined by Pippin and Merry, who were never averse to a good fight, especially against hobbits of Lotho's caliber. Frodo's shouts and pleas to stop went unheard as the fight quickly spread throughout the crowd - most of whom also loved a good fight, and were more than full enough with ale by now to make it all the more reasonable. Eventually Frodo was able to pull Sam out by his coat tails, followed by Merry and Pippin, and they quickly made their escape to the Thain's hole, attempting to remain as unnoticed as possible in the process.

"Whew!" breathed Pippin, back against the door as soon as it was shut. "That was great!!! I didn't know ye had it in ye, Sam!" Pippin laughed as he moved forward to clap Sam on the back.

"I knew he did. Great going, there, Sam - Lotho deserved everything he got!" grinned Merry, hand on Sam's other shoulder.

Sam looked from one to the other, surprised by this outpouring of support - then nervously looked over at Frodo, whho was standing a bit away, facing in the other direction and shaking his head.

Sam sighed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo. I guess I really put my foot into it, didn't I? I - I just couldn't help myself - I mean, the pony, what Lotho said, and all... I guess a gentleman would have held back, would have known better. I'm sorry." Sam waited, head down, to hear the berating he was sure would come from Mr. Frodo, after the embarassing scene he'd made at the races.

Frodo kept shaking his head, but now Merry and Pippin could see that his whole body was shaking - with laughter. The two exchanged looks of confusion. "What's so funny, Frodo?" piped Pippin, as Sam's head came up to see what Pip was talking about.

Frodo slowly turned around, a wry smile on his face, still shaking his head and laughing.

"Sam Gamgee - if I live a hundred years, I shall never forget the look on Lotho's face when you took that wonderful, beautiful swing at him!" Frodo said, a wide grin on his face.

"Then - then you're not mad at me, sir?" Sam said in amazement.

"Mad? Why should I be mad at you, Sam - why I've never been prouder!", Frodo said, going over to Sam and taking him into a hug, Sam's eyes open wide with surprise as he looked over Frodo's shoulder. Sam pulled back, looking into Frodo's face, unbelieving.

"But - but - I didn't act like a gentleman, sir!" Sam protested.

Frodo smiled affectionately at Sam, "Sam - I told you before - it's being a gentleman, just as much as sounding like one. And a true gentleman stands up for what's right, and for those who can't protect themselves. And that's just what you did today, don't you see? In fact, you just proved what I've suspected all along, Sam Gamgee - I only needed to teach you how to look and sound like a gentleman - but, inside, you've been a gentleman all along."

Sam reddened at the praise, and blinked to keep from tearing up. "Thank you, Sir."

"You're welcome, Sam," said Frodo, and then, quickly, he turned to Pippin and Merry, who had been looking on with smiles on their faces, oblivious to the torn clothing of all of them, and the mud covering the small bit of clothing that wasn't torn, "Now - what do you gents say to a hot bath, fresh clothes, and some cold beer? Pippin, do you think the hospitality of the Smials can manage that?"

Pippin laughed as he steered them all down the hallway to clean themselves up, the four of them in a row, arms on each others shoulders.

Sam's family saw little of him the next few weeks, as Frodo worked to make Sam ready for the trip to Buckland - which was a good thing, all in all, for Sam's gaffer would have had something to say about his recent cleaning and fancying up. In fact, Sam was worried as to just how he was going to explain all of this to his gaffer once the Ball was over, but he managed to push his concerns to the back of his mind for now. He had his hands - and his head - full with learning the who's who of Buckland society, continuing to work on his speaking, and learning how to dance.

The latter subject was the cause for a great deal of mirth, since the only ones available to teach him were Frodo, Merry and Pippin. Two would play music while the other taught the dancing, but the sight of Sam dancing with any of them inevitably broke down into guffaws - so much so that it was a miracle that he actually did learn to dance. Frodo seemed to manage the best, but Merry and Pip tended to enjoy the drama a bit too much, fluttering their eyelashes at Sam and uttering high-pitched giggles, until Sam's glowering would break them up in stitches.

"Oh, Sam - you're so strong!" squealed Pippin - which earned him a kick in the shins from Sam - son of the Thain or no son of the Thain.

"Dear Sam - won't you run away with me?" Merry begged, the effect ruined by his naturally lower voice - and the yelp that ensued when Sam's foot tread on his.

But, all being said and done, Merry and Pippin turned out to be more of a help than a hindrance, being rather talented with the drum and pipe at dance accompaniment, much to the surprise of Frodo and Sam both. And Frodo, with his natural grace at dancing, and his patience at teaching, soon had Sam moving smoothly through the popular dances of the Shire.

Before they knew it, it was coming nigh to Yule - and the time of the Brandybuck Ball.

The Brandybuck Ball - surely the finest occasion in all of the Shire. Held in the magnificent Buckland Hall, it was the highlight of the social calendar for all of the finest families in the Shire. The Hall was literally aglow with candles, with beautiful garlands of evergreens strewn about the ceilings and doorways, the scent of cinnamon and cloves in the air, and the rustle of hobbits in their best finery all about, combined with the jaunty sound of fiddles and pipes coming from the enormous ballroom - one of the few rooms at the Hall not excavated from the hill, due to its great size.

Such was the scene as Frodo Baggins and Sam Gamgee - that is, Underhill - entered the ballroom. Their eyes were at first blinded by the bright light of so many candles. Frodo was finely dressed in a weskit and matching trousers of brown velvet, and a shirt of fine white linen. But Sam outshone Frodo by far, in a weskit of deep moss green velvet, and trousers of chestnut brown, and a shirt of linen with subtle textured designs, all emphasizing his fine strong hobbit figure, with a plump stomach the envy of any hobbit, as well as well-formed calves and neatly brushed feet. Sam's beautiful golden hair - usually an unruly afterthought - had been cut and brushed to its full glory; and blonde hair being a rarity amongst hobbits, it was enough to make lass after lass stop and stare as he and Frodo walked through the hall to Merry and Pippin, waiting on the other side.

Sam seemed to take the magnificence and the looks in stride as they approached Merry and Pippin; only Frodo could sense his confusion at suddenly being the center of attention.

Pippin was, of course, brightly dressed as usual - this time in green, to accent his always-laughing green eyes - and Merry wore a beautiful gold-colored weskit; but both of them were staring at Sam with unabashed amazement as he and Frodo greeted Frodo's cousins and wished them the compliments of the season.

"Sam!" Merry gasped, "is that really you?!" Pippin managed only a squeak as he pumped Sam's hand in greeting.

Sam reddened slightly, but managed to keep his calm, "I don't know what all the fuss it about, sirs," he whispered, "is there something amiss with my clothing?", he asked, worried.

Pippin laughed, and replied quietly, "No, Sam! There's nothing amiss! It's just - well, I hate to admit it, but the lasses can't take their eyes off of you. Why, they seem to think you're the finest looking hobbit lad at the Ball!"

At this, Sam blushed to the roots of his hair. "Don't tease me now, sir! It isn't right!"

Frodo turned to Sam, smiling. "Sam - he's not teasing. It's true." Sam blinked owlishly at his friends, and suddenly looked near to passing out at the thought. "Now, now, Sam! Take a deep breath, and calm yourself down. Here," Frodo continued, picking up a mug of ale from a passing servant and handing it to Sam, "drink this - slowly, now! Slowly!" Sam obeyed, slowly downing the entire mug and handing it back. "Now, straighten up... calm yourself ... and turn around and look..."

Sam did so, and allowed himself a look around the ball room. Of the looks aimed at him, none were laughing or disparaging - far from it. Instead, he was met with looks of admiration and coy smiles. Strangely, this made him more nervous than just about anything he could imagine, until he heard Frodo's amused voice next to him. "Breathe, Sam, breathe! Relax. Remember, just be a gentleman tonight. And Sam?" Frodo's voice paused until he was sure Sam was listening, "Above all - enjoy it. This is your night, Sam." At that, Sam allowed himself a small laugh -and calmed a bit. The next thing he knew, a beautiful young hobbit lass had appeared at his elbow, smiling engagingly, and the band was starting up a dance. Sam recalled his manners and all that he had been taught.

"May I have this dance?", he asked the lass smoothly, and with confidence. The girl replied with a grateful nod, and soon, Sam was dancing around and around the ballroom, as if he had done so his entire life. After that, the evening was filled with dance after dance - it seemed as though the lasses were lining up for him. And always, when he looked over at any of his friends who happened to be sitting out a dance, there was a smile and a toast with a mug. At one point, he even found himself standing next to the Master of the Hall, Saradoc Brandybuck, Merry's father, who seemed particularly eager to get to know the mysterious Underhill who had come from out of nowhere to become the hit of this year's Buckland Ball. Sam found himself conversing smoothly with this grand personage, steering the subject away from his background again and again, and enjoying himself as he did.

As for Frodo, he was simply enjoying he impression his friend and gardener had made on those present, as he strolled through the ballroom, catching snatches of conversations:

"So light on his feet, so smooth - heavens, he must have Elvish in his blood!"

"Now there's a fine specimen of a hobbit, and that's saying something."

"Look at him, when he dances. Such a faraway look - as if he's always lived in... a garden!"

Frodo found himself coming close to spilling his beer on himself at the last comment. He decided it was best to simply stand on the sidelines and watch Sam for a while, as he danced with yet another daughter of one of the highborn families of the Shire. He was entranced as Sam danced with the belles of the ball, one after another - magnificently. Yet at some late point in the evening, Frodo was surprised to find himself feeling strangely saddened. But why? He should be happy for his friend - and, after all, this is what it was all for, wasn't it? Soon, with his new manners and way of speaking, Sam should be able to impress any lass he wanted in Hobbiton, Rosie included - and then be happily married. Happily married. And no more Sam coming over in the evenings to work on his speech; no more silly parties with Merry and Pippin and Sam to teach Sam dancing; no more waking up to breakfast cooked by Sam. Frodo shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, but found himself sighing instead, unable to watch any more of the dancing. It was late. Sam was enjoying himself, no need to ask him to stop, but it was time for Frodo to turn in. Frodo walked to the door of the ballroom, and turned back for one more look -and then went out. The cold air was a welcome shock after the heady heat of the ballroom, and many were standing outside, enjoying a hot mulled wine... or two... or more. Frodo pulled on his jacket. A hot mulled wine sounded good before bed. Frodo walked over to the steaming kettles, only to run into Merry and Pippin, deep in their cups.

"Cousin!" they shouted together, gathering him in as he walked over with his mug. The two then proceeded to congratulate him loudly for his amazing transformation of Sam - they never would have believed it! A triumph, an absolute triumph! Frodo hushed them nervously, looking about, worried that Sam might hear, but fortunately he appeared to still be in the ballroom, since there was no sign of him outside.

"Frodo! It's clear you've won the bet!" Merry shouted, as he continued:

(singing)
Tonight, old man, you did it!
You did it! You did it!
You said that you would do it,
And indeed you did.
I thought that you would rue it;
I doubted you'd do it.
But now I must admit it
That succeed you did.
You should get a mathom
Or be even made a mayor

Frodo (embarassed and trying to wave them off):
It was nothing. Really nothing.

Pippin:
All alone you hurdled
Ev'ry obstacle 'twas there!

Frodo (quite embarassed, not to mentioned ashamed and worried that
somebody will hear, cuts in):
Now, wait! Now, wait!
Give credit where it's due...

Pippin:
Yes! A lot of the glory goes to you!

Merry:
For you're the one who did it,
Who did it, who did it!
As sturdy as the Gaffer,
Not a second did you waffle.
There's no doubt about it,
You did it!
I must have aged a year tonight.
At times I thought I'd die of fright.
Never was there a momentary lull

Pippin:
Shortly after we came in
I saw at once you'd easily win;
And after that I found it deadly dull.

Merry:
You should have heard the ooh's and ah's;
Ev'ry one wondering who he was.

Pippin:
You'd think they'd never seen a gardener before!

Merry:
And when Pimpernel Took
Asked to meet him, (Merry grinned at Pippin, who rolled his eyes)
And he gave his arm to lead her to the floor...!
I said to Pip: He did it!
Frodo did it! He did it!
They thought Sam was ecstatic
And so damned aristocratic,
And they never knew
That you
Did it!

Pippin:
Thank Heavens for Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.
If it weren't for her I would have died of boredom.
She was there, all right. And up to her old tricks.

Frodo:
Lobelia?! That dreadful Sackville-Baggins?! Was she there?

Pippin:
Yes.
That blackguard who uses her whiles and ways
More to blackmail and gossip than praise;
She made it the devilish business of hers
"To find out who this Master Underhill is."
Ev'ry time we looked around
There she was, that nosey hound
From Hobbiton.
Never leaving us alone,
Never have I ever known
A ruder one.
She oiled her way around the floor.
Ev'ry trick that she could play,
She used to strip his mask away.
And when at last the Ball was done,
She glowed as if she knew she'd won!
And with a voice to eager,
And a smile too broad,
She announced to the hostess
That he was a fraud!

Frodo (blanching):
No!

Pippin:
Oh ho!
His Shirish is too good, she said,
Which clearly indicates that he is foreign.
Whereas others are instructed in their native language
Shire folk aren't.
And although he may have studied with an expert
And he passed elsewise in Tuck,
I can tell that he was born in Buckland!
Not only Buckland, but of your blood, he is a Brandybuck!

Merry and Pippin (hugging and toasting an ill-looking Frodo):
Congratulations, Mr. Baggins,
For your glorious victory!
Congratulations, Mr. Baggins!
You'll be mentioned in history!
Congratulations,
Mr. Baggins!
For your glorious
Victory!
Congratulations,
Mister Baggins!
Sing hail and hallelujah!
Ev'ry bit of credit
For it all belongs to you!

Frodo, still feeling a bit bitter and stung by Sam's success with the ladies, accepted the toasts reluctantly and didn't bother to correct Merry and Pip when they continued speaking on how tedious it must have been to spend all of that time coaching Sam. And Merry and Pippin heartily agreed that Frodo had won the bet and had thereby proved that anyone can be turned into a gentleman with the right schooling. Frodo simply nodded, not listening, his mind elsewhere.

None noticed a certain yellow-haired hobbit in a moss green weskit, half-hidden behind a nearby tree, as he turned around and quickly walked away from the celebration.

Frodo went back into the ballroom to find Sam, to say good night and again give him his congratulations, only to be told that Sam had already left - took the offer of a coach ride back to Hobbiton with the family of one of the eligible young girls, one that didn't mind going out of the way to drop him off. Frodo was puzzled and confused - it wasn't like Sam not to say something to Frodo before leaving. But, perhaps this is what Sam wanted - he'd found his lass, thanks to his fine new manners and speech. Frodo sighed and made his way back to his room for the night. Somehow, he didn't know why, his heart was heavy - even though it seemed as though the night had been a success beyond all his expectations. But he was too tired to try to understand why.

Later that night, in a coach heading to Hobbiton, Sam, who was the only one awake on board as the coach jostled along the road, looked morosely out the window and sang softly, sadly, to himself:

(singing)
Just you wait, Frodo Baggins, just you wait
You'll be sorry, but your tears will be too late
You will be the one it's done to, but there'll be no one to run to
Just you wait....

The next day, Frodo returned to Bag End - but Sam was not there. The fine clothes that Frodo had bought for Sam were neatly folded in a pile on his front doorstep. Sam had gone back to his house, but with not a word, or a note. No. There was a note - Sam's resignation as gardener. Frodo felt hurt, confused - was it because Sam had found a lass? Or was it something else? Nothing about this made any sense to Frodo.

Frodo walked down the lane to Sam's house. He was met at the door by the Gaffer, but the greeting was unwelcoming and gruff. When Sam had returned home and told the Gaffer he was resigning his post at Bag End, the Gaffer refused to let him - until Sam told him the whole story. After a great deal of resistance, Sam finally had.

What did Frodo think trying to put ideas into his son's head like that, trying to make him into something he's not, the Gaffer demanded. And on a bet, no less! He's a Gamgee, and proud of it - no need to be trying to be somebody else. No call to disrespect his son like that; nobody had a right to do that!

Frodo became indignant, despite himself, and embarassed. "Disrespect Sam?" he retorted, " I was trying to help him improve himself! Trying to help him be the best he could be! And if this is the thanks I get for trying to help, for spending all of that time with Sam.." Frodo paused, confused and angry ".. teaching Sam, that is - than I'm better off without him!" Frodo turned on his heel and marched off, back up the hill to Bag End, blood pounding in his head furiously, slowly cooling off only as he approached home.

Returning to the echoing emptiness of BagEnd, the Gaffer's words and his own reverberated through his head. Was he really trying to help Sam out? Was that why he'd done this? Then - why had it pained him to know that Sam had found out about the bet? Or to realize Sam had done so well at the party - so well, that he'd surely marry and leave Bag End. And why did Frodo miss... yes, miss - the old Sam. The Sam that told stories, and laughed, and passed along the local gossip. Who worked in the garden, and brought Frodo his tea. And more - all the time they'd spent together the last 3 months, more time together than they'd spent in the 20 years before - talking, laughing, arguing, failing, succeeding... Bag End seemed empty without him. Indeed, suddenly Frodo's life seemed empty - without Sam. Not Sam the Gentleman, that he'd tried to create - but Sam of the shy smile, the ready laugh, the long stories, the thoughtful puffing on his pipe... and just - Sam.

(Frodo sings softly to himself, almost speaking the words rather than singing them):
I've grown accustomed to his face
He almost makes the day begin.
I've grown accustomed to the tune
He whistles night and noon.
His smiles. His frowns.
His ups, his downs,
Are second nature to me now;
Like breathing out and breathing in.
I was serenely independent and content before the bet.
Surely I can always be that way again-
And yet
I've grown accustomed to his looks,
Accustomed to his voice;
Accustomed to his face.

But I'm so used to hear him say "Good morning" ev'ry day.
His joys, his woes,
His highs, his lows,
Are second nature to me now;
Like breathing out and breathing in.
I'm very grateful he's a person
who's so easy to forget (ironic laugh)
Rather like a habit
One can always break and yet,
I've grown accustomed to the trace
Of something in the air;
Accustomed to his face.

Frodo paused, standing behind his desk, hand on the back of his chair, looking out of his window, to the garden.

"I washed my face and 'ands before I came in, I did..."

Frodo whirled around, "Sam!?"

Sam was at the doorstep, looking through the open door that Frodo had absently left ajar. Sam pushed the door open wider and softly stepped in, closing it behind him, then looking over again at Frodo.

Frodo's eyes filled with tears, head falling down. "I'm surprised... I didn't think you'd want to come back here again, after..."

Sam's face was filled with sadness, and hurt - but with calmness as well. "After what, sir?"

Frodo was silent for a long while, collecting himself. "You heard.... about the bet." It was said as a statement, more than a question.

"Aye, sir - I did." Sam spoke with his old voice, warm and relaxed, the feel of it like a well-worn sweater on a chilly day to Frodo's ears. Strange - it should have been grating, after all the time spent working against it, but instead, it was welcoming. Frodo felt himself releasing the breath he'd been holding tightly inside of him.

Frodo raised his eyes, looking at Sam as steadily as he could manage. "I'm sorry, Sam." When Sam quietly nodded for him to continue, Frodo went on. "I just want you to know, it wasn't... I didn't do it for the...bet. I never did it for that." Frodo walked slowly over to Sam, standing before him, his hands folded nervously in front of him. "I did it for you, because - I thought you wanted it." Sam tilted hhis head, a small look of skepticism on his face. "For Rosie - don't you remember? You said you wanted to be more of a gentleman, for Rosie." Sam let out a chuckle, shaking his head. "You mean - you didn't?" Frodo asked, puzzled. Sam replied, "Well, aye - I guess I did for a while. But I meant a gentleman of the Hobbiton variety - not one of them fancies what lives over in Buckland, sir!" Frodo shook his head ruefully, with a lopsided grin. "I guess you're right, Sam - that was a bit much, wasn't it?" Frodo was relieved to hear another chuckle from Sam, and smiled briefly, before his face went solemn again. Sam noted the change with concern, waiting.

"I guess the truth is, Sam - that I really did it for me," Frodo confessed, woefully, turning away from Sam, pacing the front room slowly. Sam watched him, brow furrowed.

"I did it - because... Oh, Sam, this is not easy for me to say. I did it because - I wanted a friend. It gets lonely here at Bag End, with only my books to keep me company, and Bilbo gone... Merry and Pippin come to visit, yes, but when they're gone, it's only empty again - except when we talked together in the garden, or you came and listen to me read Elvish. But you'd always go back to the gardening. I figured you thought it wasn't right for you and I to be on the level of friends."

"I guess I thought - if I showed you how to talk, and act, and such - we wouldn't feel so different. And you'd feel more at ease with me, and... and we could chat - and have a smoke or a drink - and you wouldn't stand there looking like you were at the entrance of a dragon's cave every time you came to the front door! And - it worked!", Frodo said, finally looking back at Sam. "For three short months, you came into Bag End - not as the gardener, or somebody who worked for me, but - as a friend, working with a friend. And I'll not forget that, Sam. I know it was wrong. I know it was selfish. And I know I should have told you about the bet. But the longer I put it off, the harder it became to talk about it, without being afraid you'd get angry and leave." Sam was looking back at Frodo with astonishment. Frodo looked away again. "And now you know. And now you don't want to work here anymore. I understand, Sam. I wanted you as a friend, and here I've gone and treated you as no friend should ever treat another. It wasn 't right." Frodo stopped, leaning on his desk, and looking out of the window, a look of resignation on his face.

"No, sir, it wasn't," Sam said, after a long stretch of silence, "but I reckon you weren't the only one who wasn't completely honest." Frodo's head turned quickly to look at Sam, a look of confused surprise on his face. "Truth is, I didn't do this for to become a gentleman, sir, or to get out of the house or out of doin' odd jobs for the Gaffer all winter," Sam said, smiling at the last few words. "I did it - for the friendliness of it, sir - for the pleasantness between us." Sam stopped, feeling the color rise in his face. "Sure, it got a little rough there for a bit, and I nearly quit - but I couldn't. I couldn't because I knew you were expecting great things of me, sir - and ain't nobody ever done that before - well, you know what I mean..." Sam looked up, smiling wryly at his own double negative and wrong verb tense - only to meet Frodo's eyes, open with surprise and dawning understanding. "See, I guess you weren't the only one who - who needed a friend - and went along with a bit of a stretch of truth to get one. I guess I were right angry back at the party - when I heard your other friends laughing and such." Frodo closed his eyes and winced, shaking his head. "But it wasn't until I heard my Gaffer saying all of those awful things at you that I realized - you never once joined them in making fun of me - either then, or any time before."

"You know Merry and Pippin didn't mean to make fun of you, Sam - I'm afraid they'd had a bit more mulled wine than was good for them and got carried away. It seems you've quite won them over in the past few months. But - but I didn't defend you as much as I should have either, Sam - that wasn't right of me. I should have - but the truth is, I was feeling sorry for myself," Frodo said, turning around to face Sam, leaning against the desk.

"Sorry for yourself, Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam, puzzled.

Frodo nodded. "Sorry for myself, Sam. Because it was over. Because - I was afraid that things would go back to the way they were before, as soon as we got home, now that I didn't have an excuse to have you over. And now that you could speak with the best of them, why - why would you bother spending time with me, when you could be out there, wooing the ladies, sweeping them off their feet, and meeting all of the best folk. I could see it at the party - you could have had the pick of any of the ladies, your choice of any of the gents as your friend. So I let them say what they would, pretended it was all just a bet to me, nothing else. But all the time, I just felt sorry for myself."

"Mr. Frodo!", cried out Sam, "You don't have no reason to be feeling that way about yourself! Why, I didn't care for none of them ladies, anyway -they couldn't hold a candle to the lasses of Hobbiton! And it's years and years before I come of age and have to worry about that, thank the Shire! As to the lads - well, there was only one lad there that I cared about calling my friend, sir - and that was you."

Frodo looked up, eyes hesitant. "You don't - hate me - Sam?"

Sam set his jaw, eyes filled with determination, arms crossed across his chest. "Ain't no reason that I can think of to do so, Mr. Frodo, if you follow me. Can't say as I could get angry at anything you've done - if it was all out of friendship. That is - if we are... still friends?" Sam's look suddenly faltered, as he bit his lip.

"Sam," said Frodo, "I would be pleased and honored to be your friend, if you will be mine."

"Mr. Frodo," replied Sam, sniffling a bit, despite himself, "I always have been, even if you didn't know it... and I always will be, too." And soon Sam was crushing Frodo in a big hug as Frodo stepped forward into his embrace, laughing and smiling and crying all at once, in relief and gladness. Many "I'm sorry"s and "That's all right" were said, over and over between the two, until at last they released each other, red-eyed but smiling. Then Sam's eyebrows went up and he took a step or two back, looking at Frodo skeptically, as Frodo looked on with apprehension.

"Just one thing, sir...", Sam said slowly.

"Yes, Sam?" Frodo said nervously.

Sam thought for a bit.

"If I don't never hear about that ruddy Hermione Hardbottle and her horrible honeypies again - it'll be too soon!", Sam said firmly.

Frodo threw back his head and laughed, and it felt as if he was truly laughing for the first time in days, as Sam sooned joined him, and they went off into the kitchen to make tea.