Title: Lotho Sackville-Baggins Is Missing
Author: Kathryn Ramage 
Email: kramage@erols.com
Codes: Frodo/Sam, Merry/Pippin (and a little peripheral Sam/Rosie)
Rated: PG
Summary: The second Frodo Investigates! mystery. When Lotho disappears, Frodo 
must consider the question: who would be happiest to see the last of Pimple?

Notes: Like my first mystery, "Death on the Brandywine," this story takes 
elements from the book, but also uses two key points from the film version or 
LOTR: the Shire is untouched, and the four main hobbits are all around the same 
age. 
 
Many of the names used in this story are taken from the Baggins family tree in 
Appendix C, but the characterizations are mostly my own (again, with apologies 
to any respectable hobbits whom I've suggested might be involved in Lotho's 
mysterious disappearance).

This story takes place in the spring of 1420 (S.R.), about six months after the 
boys have returned from the quest, and begins a week or so after the events in 
"Death on the Brandywine."

Disclaimer: The characters and overall storyline are certainly not mine. They 
belong to J.R.R. Tolkien's estate, and I'm just playing with them to entertain 
myself and anyone else who likes this kind of thing.

December 2004

!~|i|~!

Sam awoke to the faint gray light of early morning stealing in between the 
curtains on the circular window above the bed in the master bedroom at Bag End. 
The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was the familiar image of Frodo's 
back, turned to him, and a tangle of dark curls spread on the white pillowcase.

A familiar sight... but every morning, it surprised him anew. He'd been living 
at Bag End for six months, but was not yet used to this new life that Frodo had 
opened up for him. 
 
When Frodo had invited him to live here, he'd made it clear that Sam was not to 
be his servant. *You can look after me, of course,* Frodo had said. *I couldn't 
stop you from doing that even if I wanted to. But that's not why I ask you, Sam-
-not because I need a nurse, but because you are my friend and dearest love, and 
I'd be awfully lonely without you. This will be your home as much as mine.*

What Frodo hadn't said, but what Sam had come to realize since, was that Frodo 
intended to bring him up from his natural place in the world and make a 
gentlehobbit out of him. Other people might assume that they were master and 
servant, but within this house they would be equals. It was an idea that both of 
them were still adjusting themselves to, and there were often awkward 
assumptions and mistakes. 

Sam also understood that Frodo was trying to offer him a sort of marriage, even 
if it was nothing like the ordinary marriages he'd observed. Even among the fine 
folk, Sam knew that when two people wed, they each had their proper tasks within 
and outside of the house, in the management of the kitchen, in the handling of 
household business, and in taking care of the children--and there were always 
children, at least one or two and perhaps as many as a dozen. But it wasn't like 
that in _this_ household. In fact, it often seemed to Sam that he had taken on 
most of the duties of both husband and wife, while Frodo was his child to be 
fussed over and tended to. 

He didn't mind that at all. Frodo was ill and needed special care; he would be 
well soon if he'd only rest and watch his health. Besides, Sam knew he wouldn't 
be happy if he didn't have Frodo to look after. Nevertheless, this arrangement 
was a little odd and difficult for a conventionally-minded hobbit to get used 
to. 

From time to time, Sam imagined what it would be like to have a normal married 
life. He would never admit this to Frodo, however, even though Frodo had told 
him that he shouldn't spend his best years tending to an invalid, and it was all 
right for him to marry a girl who understood the way it was between them. He 
wouldn't do it. It would look as if he were unhappy with his choice, and he 
wasn't. Not in the least. He didn't regret any choice he had ever made as far as 
Frodo was concerned, for he loved him more dearly than he could say.

And yet...

Sometimes, he felt as if there were two Samwise Gamgees: There was the Sam who 
was a simple, workaday hobbit, content with his lot in life, and who only wanted 
what any ordinary hobbit wanted--a wife and children, a snug little bungalow to 
call his own, and a patch of garden to tend. Then there was the other Sam, the 
one who had grown up listening to old Mr. Bilbo's tales of adventure and 
yearning to go off and visit the Elves, who wrote poetry and went on quests, and 
who had fallen in love with his gentleman. The two had been at war within him 
since childhood, and it looked lately as if the second Sam was winning.

He reached out and tenderly placed his hand on Frodo's back. At the touch, the 
muscles of Frodo's shoulders contracted and he made a soft sound of surprise. 
Then he rolled over to flop against Sam.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Sam said as he put an arm around him.

"`s all right," Frodo answered without opening his eyes.  "I'm not awake yet." 
He snuggled drowsily closer, burying his nose in Sam's nightshirt collar and 
laying one hand lightly on his chest. He was quiet for so long that Sam thought 
he had fallen back to sleep and was reluctant to move at all lest he wake Frodo 
again, when Frodo asked, "Are you going to let me get up today?"

"If you're feeling fit enough for it."

The recent family tragedy at Brandy Hall had been a horrible strain on Frodo 
emotionally as well as physically; he'd been utterly exhausted by the time 
they'd returned home, and hadn't argued when Sam sent him straight to bed. Frodo 
had remained meekly compliant all week--staying in bed on his orders, eating 
whatever food was put before him without the usual protests about not being 
hungry--but Sam suspected that that was because Frodo was grateful for the 
enforced rest. He'd slept, and read, and put together his notes for the book he 
planned to write about their adventures, and only got up to bathe and to join 
Sam by the parlor fire in the evenings. When Frodo felt well enough, Sam was 
sure he wouldn't be able to keep him abed a minute longer.

"I _am_ beginning to feel restless lying here all day. It might do me good to be 
up and about for an hour or two. Besides, it's not fair," Frodo said, teasing 
now.  "You insist I stay in bed, and you won't stay with me."

It was an appealing idea, but Sam replied in the same playful tone, "You 
wouldn't get much rest if I did! Besides, there's too much work to do for me to 
stay lying abed. I've got your bath to draw, and breakfast to cook. The best 
guestroom's got to be made ready if Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin are coming for 
their visit. And the garden needs tending. With all this rain we've been having, 
I haven't given it the care it needs. The weeds are starting to come up all 
over." He glanced up at the window over the bed; the sun had risen, and pinkish 
streaks of light were coming in through the curtains. It looked as if it were 
going to be a beautiful day.  "I ought to spend the morning putting the flower 
beds in order. If you want to get up today, Frodo, why don't you come and sit 
out in the sunshine while I work?"

!~|ii|~!

After breakfast, when Sam went out to tend the garden, Frodo got dressed and 
went with him. Frodo offered to help pull up the weeds, but Sam wouldn't hear of 
it; Frodo might be well enough to be up and about, but he was still going to 
rest. Once he had made Frodo comfortable on the bench by the front door with a 
shawl around his shoulders and a pipe at hand if he wanted to smoke, Sam turned 
his attention to the flower beds beneath the sitting-room windows. Frodo settled 
down to look over the notes about their adventures that he had compiled all 
week. 

"When're you going to start writing?" Sam asked him without looking up from his 
own work.  "It seems to me you've got enough there to begin putting it all down 
proper."

"I expect I will one day soon," Frodo replied, "but I don't dare to write in 
Uncle Bilbo's book yet, not 'til I'm sure of how I'm going to tell our tale." 
Bilbo had given him the Red Book when they'd stopped at Rivendell on their way 
home; Frodo had studied it, especially the chapter about how Bilbo had first 
encountered Gollum, played riddles with him, and won the Ring--which was 
significantly different from the version of the story Frodo had heard from 
Gandalf--and he had read passages of it out to Sam. There were plenty of blank 
pages after the end of Bilbo's tale, but Frodo had so far left these untouched.  
"I want to get Merry's and Pippin's stories written down while they're here," he 
went on.  "I want to include those too. After all, their adventures were as much 
a part of the quest as ours were." 

He had only read a few pages from his notebook, when he heard the creak of the 
garden gate below swinging open, and he looked down the hillside to see his 
cousin Lotho Sackville-Baggins--of all people!--coming up the steps toward the 
house.  "We've got company," he murmured, more to himself than to Sam, but Sam 
looked up as he spoke.

Lotho was not much older than Frodo, but he was a hunched-up hobbit with a 
gnomish face and perpetually scowling expression that made him appear older than 
he was. His usual scowl deepened when he saw Frodo seated near the top of the 
hill. 

"So you're out of hiding, I see," he said as he approached.  "Your servant's 
been going around telling everyone that you're too ill to have visitors."

"He _is_ ill," Sam said, rising from the flower bed and wiping the dirt from his 
hands on his trousers as he came forward in Frodo's defense.  "He oughtn't be 
disturbed."

"This is the first day I've been out of bed in a week," Frodo confirmed, but he 
could see that Lotho didn't believe it.  "What brings you here, Lotho? I thought 
that that unpleasant business between us was over and done with. I'm sorry to 
disappoint you, but I am still alive and hope to remain so for awhile yet."

Frodo had first returned home last autumn while the Sackville-Bagginses were in 
the process of declaring him dead so that they could claim Bag End as their own 
property. Lotho and his mother Lobelia had just been preparing to move into the 
house against the protests of other members of the Baggins family, as well as 
the Gaffer, who was looking after the place in Frodo's absence and had not given 
up hope of his and Sam's return; when Frodo had turned up, adequately proving 
himself not dead and reclaiming his home, it had infuriated Lotho and Lobelia no 
end. They suspected him of playing some sort of trick to make fools of them, and 
even threatened him with a lawsuit, although nothing had come of it.

"That's just what I'm here to talk about," said Lotho.  "I've come on Mother's 
behalf. Since she has always desired to live at Bag End, and it's unlikely that 
she'll outlive a young hobbit like you--even if you aren't well--I thought I'd 
make you a fair offer for the house."

"Thank you, but I'm not interested," Frodo answered pleasantly.  "I like Bag 
End, and I intend to stay."

"You're just being stubborn and contrary," Lotho persisted.  "You don't need a 
house this size all to yourself. You aren't going to marry, are you? Or bring up 
a family here. Why don't you go to live with your Brandybuck relations--I'm sure 
they'll welcome you back, and look after you just as well as your... devoted 
body-servant." He said this last with a glance at Sam and a sneering note that 
made the words sound like something else entirely; neither Frodo nor Sam could 
misunderstand what he was implying. 

"Here, you-" Sam came around the bench toward him, scowling dangerously, but 
stopped when Frodo put a hand on his arm. Frodo's cheeks and the tips of his 
ears had turned red, but he was determined not to lose his temper. That was what 
Lotho wanted him to do. 

"I don't wish to sell," he repeated.  "You've made your offer, Lotho, and it has 
been refused. You can be on your way."

But Lotho had not finished yet.  "This house should have gone to my father by 
rights," he huffed.  "_He_ was Bilbo's nearest kin. It ought to belong to my 
mother and to me now, not to any Brandybuck interloper."

"If Uncle Bilbo had meant you to have it, he'd have left it to you," Frodo 
retorted.  "But he left it to me."

"And you got rid of him quick enough once he did!"

Frodo ignored this.  "It's my property, to do with as I please. Understand this, 
Lotho: Even if I should die tomorrow, Bag End will not be yours. I've chosen my 
own heir." His hand was still on Sam's arm, and he gave it a light squeeze as he 
said, "Everything I own will go to Sam."

Lotho gaped at him. So did Sam, for he hadn't known that Frodo had made any such 
plans. 

"The gardener!" Lotho cried.  "You'd put your garden-boy before your own 
family?" 

"Before _you_, yes," Frodo said.  "You have no rights here, Lotho, and you've 
been as rude to me as you possibly can. Now will you please leave before I have 
Sam throw you out?"

Sam stepped forward, eager to do it; Lotho danced safely back out of his reach. 

"You think you're so important, Frodo Baggins, since you went off on your 
adventures in the Big Folk's world with your high-and-mighty Took and Brandybuck 
cousins," he spat.  "But we'll see who's the important one around here, and it 
won't be _you_. You aren't the only one with powerful friends. You'll be sorry 
you ever crossed me." And, having had the last word, Lotho turned and left Bag 
End, slamming the gate behind him.

"Let's hope that's the end of Lotho!" said Frodo.  "I would be thoroughly 
delighted if I never have to deal with the Sackville-Bagginses again." Then he 
grew more solemn.  "Sam," he asked after a moment, "do you think Lotho really 
knows- ah- anything, or was that remark of his meant as a blind insult?"

"I think he was just saying it to make you angry," Sam answered.  "He's heard 
the gossip, and he's stabbing out to hurt you however he can."

Frodo looked up at him, eyes wide.  "Gossip?"

"Well... you know how folk'll talk." 

"Yes, but I didn't know that they were talking about _us_."  

Frodo didn't go out to the Green Dragon or the Bywater market often these days, 
so he didn't hear it, but Sam knew what sort of stories were being whispered 
since he and Frodo had set up house together. He didn't mind so much for 
himself--it was only the truth, after all--but he didn't want Frodo upset by any 
hint of a scandal.  "I wouldn't let it trouble you," he tried to put Frodo's 
worries to rest.  "But you shouldn't ought to've told Mr. Lotho what you did 
about leaving me everything you own. You don't really mean to do it, do you?" 

"Yes, of course! I've been thinking about it for awhile now. Ever since-" Frodo 
paused.  "After I had my last bad turn, I thought I should settle matters 
properly in case anything happened to me."

"Nothing'll happen to you," Sam protested, disturbed that Frodo was thinking 
about such things. He hated when Frodo talked like this, as if he didn't expect 
to live long.  "You'll be well again soon, and live years and years."

"Just in case," Frodo repeated. He took Sam's hand in his, and squeezed the 
fingers.  "I want to be sure that you're taken care of. What's mine is yours. 
Haven't I said so?" 

"You've said so, and you've done so." It was one of things Sam had not gotten 
used to: right after he'd moved in, Frodo had told him to take whatever money he 
needed for household expenses or personal use, but Sam couldn't help feeling 
that he was taking an enormous liberty every time he opened the strongbox. He 
was always careful to keep account of whatever he spent, and used considerably 
less for personal matters than he would have if he'd been paid his old 
gardener's wages.  "But it's nonsense to talk about giving me Bag End. Begging 
your pardon, but Mr. Lotho's right about that. It ought to be kept in your 
family. Not left to _him_ and Mrs. Lobelia, of course, but one of the other 
Bagginses you like better. That's what's fitting."

"Don't be silly, Sam. You are closer to me than anyone, even the Bagginses I 
like," Frodo insisted. He brought Sam's hand to his lips, kissed the back, and 
rested his cheek on it.  "_That's_ fitting, and never mind what Lotho or anyone 
else says about it."

They could still see Lotho retreating swiftly up the lane in the direction of 
Hobbiton; together, they watched until he went around the green curve of the 
hill and was out of sight. That was the last they saw of him.
 
!~|iii|~!

A few days later, while the two hobbits were at second breakfast, there was a 
knock at the front door. 

Frodo looked up from his half-finished plate of bacon and eggs.  "Surely it 
couldn't be Merry and Pippin? I wasn't expecting them `til this afternoon." 

"It'd be just like them to come early," Sam answered as he got up from the 
kitchen table.

But when he answered the door, he found, not Merry and Pippin, but one of the 
local sherriffs, Robin Smallburrows, waiting outside. Robin was holding his 
feathered cap--the badge of his office--in his hands and twisting it nervously, 
but he looked relieved when he saw Sam, for the two had been friends from 
childhood.

"G'morning, Sam. I'd like to speak to Mr. Frodo, please, if you don't mind."

As long as Frodo was ill, Sam did mind his being bothered without good reason.  
"What's this about, Robin?" he asked.

"It's his cousin, Mr. Lotho Sackville-Baggins. He's gone missing."

"Missing?" said Sam, and from immediately behind him came an echo: "Lotho's 
missing?" He turned to find that Frodo had come to the doorway between the 
sitting room and front hall.

"That's right, Mr. Baggins," Robin answered.  "It seems he went out of Hobbiton 
this Trewsday past, and no one's seen `m since." He looked up and down Frodo, 
who was still in his nightshirt and dressing-gown, and added apologetically, "I 
didn't wish to disturb you. I know you've been poorly, and wouldn't've come if 
it wasn't important-"

"It's quite all right, Sherriff," Frodo assured him.  "Please, come in." He 
gestured for Sam to admit Robin to the house, then turned and went into the 
sitting room.  "How can I help you?" he asked as he took a chair; he would have 
invited Robin to have a seat as well, but knew that the sherriff would think it 
an impertinence to sit down with a gentlehobbit while performing his official 
duties.

"We're talking to everyone who'd seen Mr. Lotho just before he went off," Robin 
explained, continuing to twist his cap in his hands as he spoke.  "Now, he came 
here visiting that day, didn't he, Mr. Baggins?"

"Yes, that's right."

"And he didn't say where he might be off to afterwards?"

"No, I'm afraid not. We didn't part on friendly terms."

Robin nodded, and looked even more nervous.  "You had a quarrel."

Sam bristled, but Frodo answered calmly, "Yes, there was a quarrel--over this 
house, as a matter of fact. It's no secret that the Sackville-Bagginses have 
coveted Bag End since Uncle Bilbo's day. While I was away last year, Lotho and 
his mother thought that the house would be theirs at last, but since I've come 
home, they've been disappointed again. They still have some idea that they've 
been cheated out of property that's rightfully mine."

"Is that what Mr. Lotho came to talk to you about?" asked Robin.

"He came to make an offer to buy Bag End. I told him I didn't care to sell it, 
and he refused to accept my answer."

"Now who told you about that quarrel, Robin?" Sam demanded.

Robin was acutely embarrassed; his ears were bright pink and his cap had been 
crushed.  "It was Mrs. Sackville-Baggins," he admitted. 

"Aunt Lobelia!" Frodo cried. To Sam, he added, "I'm not in the least surprised," 
then turned back to Robin to ask, "What did she tell you?"

"I'm very sorry to repeat it to you, Mr. Baggins," Robin answered reluctantly, 
"but when we asked Mrs. Lobelia if she had any idea of her son's whereabouts, 
she said that if anything'd happened to him, we should look to you."

Sam let out a yelp of disgust.

Frodo was likewise sickened by this slander against him, but he was determined 
not to take his anger out on the hapless sherriff.  "I give you my word I had 
nothing to do with Lotho's disappearance," he told Robin.  "There were some 
harsh words spoken between us, but we didn't come to blows. Lotho was angry when 
he departed, but unharmed. I have not seen him since. Sam will confirm what I 
say."

"It's just as Mr. Frodo says," Sam affirmed, although all three were well aware 
that he would swear to whatever Frodo wanted him to, whether it was true or not.

Robin nodded solemnly.  "I'll take you at your word. I hope we won't have to 
bother you again, Mr. Baggins."

Sam saw Robin to the door, but he was scowling when he returned.  "The nerve of 
it! Mrs. Lobelia practically saying you'd made away with Mr. Lotho! And that 
Cock-Robin Sherriff Smallburrows coming here to question you-"

"Don't hold it against him, Sam," said Frodo.  "Once he heard that I'd quarreled 
with Lotho, he had to ask me about it. You can't fault him for doing his duty."

"No..." Sam relented grudgingly.  "But what about Mrs. Lobelia? She means 
trouble for you, Frodo."

"I know she does--she always has--but I have no idea where her son's run off to 
or what's happened to him. I'm not worried about whatever she has to say." 

But it was obviously on his mind, for Frodo continued to brood as he returned to 
the kitchen to finish his breakfast. He remained quiet and thoughtful for the 
rest of the day, until Merry and Pippin arrived in time for dinner. 

!~|iv|~!

Merry and Pippin had been living in Buckland since their return to the Shire. 
The two had long had a special affection for each other but, as had happened 
with Sam and Frodo, that feeling had grown more intense during their adventures; 
alone in the Big Folk's world, separated from all other hobbit-kind, and facing 
danger and death nearly every day, they had formed a powerful bond of love and 
loyalty that neither could ever form with anyone else. Reluctant to part once 
they were home again, they had set up house together in the cottage at 
Crickhollow, which was on the edge of the Brandybuck property--private enough to 
let them do as they pleased without worrying about prying neighbors or family 
interference. 

The true nature of their relationship remained a secret for many months. Only 
certain members of the Brandybuck family were aware of what went on at 
Crickhollow, and tactfully ignored it. Such things were tacitly acknowledged to 
happen sometimes between two lads or maids in their tweens, when an especially 
close friendship became confused with first love, but the young pair always saw 
reason in the end and separated, settling down to marry like sensible hobbits. 
Most of the Brandybucks were content to wait until the boys grew out of their 
odd infatuation. Only Merry's father, Saradoc, the Master of Brandy Hall, 
attempted to hasten things to an end by trying to find a suitable girl for Merry 
to wed.

The family secret became a public scandal a few weeks ago, following the death 
of Merry's cousin Berilac. Merry had quarreled with his father just before 
Berilac's death, and Saradoc had allowed Merry to be arrested for murder as 
punishment for refusing to give Pippin up. 

Merry's innocence was eventually established, thanks to Frodo's and Sam's 
investigation on his behalf, but relations with his father and family were still 
strained. Everyone in the vicinity of Brandy Hall was aware that he and Pippin 
were lovers now, and the secluded Crickhollow cottage no longer seemed quite so 
private. On Frodo's invitation, they had come to stay at Bag End for an 
indefinite visit. 

To welcome the guests, Sam not only prepared a larger-than-usual dinner, but had 
set the table in the rarely used dining room. He and Frodo normally had their 
meals in the kitchen. Over dinner, Merry and Pippin related what had happened at 
Brandy Hall since the other two had left it. 

"Mother sends you her love," Merry told Frodo.  "So do the aunties. They're all 
sorry you couldn't stay on at the Hall a little longer. Oh, and Melilot's 
leaving." 

"Leaving?" asked Frodo.

"She's going to marry Everard Took. You know they've had an understanding since 
they were children, and after everything that's happened... well, Melly's 
finally made up her mind. I expect she wants to get away as much as we do, for 
her own reasons. She wrote to Everard, and he's come up to Buckland to see her 
and settle matters. She's going back to Tuckborough with him, and they'll marry 
in September." 

"We thought we'd stay here 'til then," said Pippin, "and then go to attend the 
wedding. You'll come too, won't you, Frodo? They'd be so glad to see you." 

"Yes, I'll go with you," Frodo agreed.  "And where do you plan to go after 
that?" 

"After that, who knows?" Merry answered.  "We may stay on in Tuckborough awhile, 
if we're welcome there." 

"My father's not taking the news about me 'n' Merry any better than Uncle 
Saradoc did," said Pippin.  "He hasn't given up hope that we'll stop this 
nonsense and get married--to girls, I mean. You're lucky you don't have a 
father, Frodo-" Merry kicked him under the table, but Pippin continued 
undeterred, "There's no one to disapprove of you and Sam. I don't suppose the 
Gaffer knows, does he?" 

Sam shook his head. At least, his father hadn't said anything when he'd moved 
into Bag End, except that he mind his manners, do his job, and not forget his 
proper place.

"Fatty Bolger's invited us to visit him at Budgeford," Pippin went on.  "I 
wouldn't mind it, but..." He glanced at Merry.

"Estella's there," Merry explained.  "You know why I'd rather not see her just 
now." The quarrel with his father had come to a head when Saradoc tried to 
arrange a match between Merry and Fatty's younger sister. The most awkward part 
of it from Merry's point of view was that the girl was sweet on him and wouldn't 
mind getting married; the only graceful thing he could do was try to stay out of 
her sight until she was over it and had found some other boy who shared her 
feelings.  "If there's nowhere else, we may just go back to Gondor."

"You were talking like that in the Newbury gaol," Frodo said with a note of 
concern. 

"It still doesn't seem like so bad an idea," Merry replied.  "I expect we'll do 
it one of these days, when the Shire's had enough of us and we've had our fill 
of the Shire." He sighed and picked up his wine glass to swirl the remaining 
wine thoughtfully.  "Sometimes, I can hardly believe that we ever had a place in 
the Big Folk's world, that we fought alongside them. That we were smarter and 
braver than anybody suspected."

"Including us!" Pippin piped in.

"Including us," Merry agreed.  "We were mostly fighting to defend the Shire and 
keep it from becoming like the places we saw out there, where evil had come in 
and ruined it. We did keep the Shire safe, and they don't even know. No one here 
knows a thing about the war. It'd be so easy for us to fall back into this safe, 
comfortable life too, and forget that we were ever anything else. I don't want 
to forget." He finished his wine and, as he set down the empty glass, turned to 
Frodo.  "You've heard enough of our troubles--What's troubling _you_, Frodo? 
Something's on your mind. I can see it."

Pippin nodded in agreement.  "You've barely said a word since we came in."

"You haven't given him much of a chance," Sam pointed out.

"But what's wrong?" asked Merry.  "You're not still upset over- well- how it all 
ended at the Hall, are you?"

"Yes, I am," admitted Frodo, "but if I'm worried today, it isn't because of 
that. We have a new problem to think of. Lotho's gone."

"Pimple gone?" cried Pippin.  "Gone where?"

"We don't know," said Frodo.  "No one does." 

"But why on earth should _you_ care?" Merry asked.  "I'd think you'd be relieved 
to see the last of him."

"I might be, if I weren't suspected of having something to do with his 
disappearance." Frodo related the full story of the argument with Lotho and the 
shirriff's visit to his astonished cousins as they finished their dinner.  
 
"But you can't leave things like this," Merry said after the table had been 
cleared and the hobbits had gone into the parlor to smoke. 

"What else can I do?" Frodo slumped down on the settee and lit his pipe. Sam 
went to make up the fire.

"Why not you look into it yourself?" Merry suggested. 

Frodo sat up a little straighter.  "You mean, _I_ should find out where Pimple's 
gone?"

"It's in your own best interests. You can't have this dark cloud hanging over 
you. Half of Hobbiton would be overjoyed if he never comes back, but as long as 
his mother's around to make a fuss, we'll never hear the end of it. If Pimple 
doesn't turn up, you know it's just a matter of time before she starts publicly 
making accusations against you and calling for your arrest."

"Lobelia's just the sort of vicious old biddy who'd do it," said Pippin.  
"She'll tell any hurtful tale she can whether she believes it or not."

"It's not as if she hasn't done it before," Merry continued.  "You remember, 
Frodo, after Uncle Bilbo disappeared, how she went around saying that you and 
Gandalf had done away with him?"

"I remember," said Frodo.  "If she does it again, I'll do just what I did the 
last time: ignore it. I don't think the sherriffs will arrest me no matter how 
loudly Lobelia screams. The worst she can do is lay a complaint against me. If a 
sherriff comes to question me again, I will simply tell them the truth: I don't 
know where Lotho is. And if Lobelia comes around here and makes a nuisance of 
herself, Sam will throw her off the property." 

All four hobbits laughed, and Frodo went on, "No, we can't toss an old lady over 
the garden hedge, no matter how obnoxious she is. Sam, if my Aunt Lobelia comes 
here, you are not to allow her past the front door. Tell her I am too ill to 
receive visitors. If she won't leave, you may show her firmly to the gate."
 
"Then you won't do anything?" asked Pippin.

Frodo shook his head.  "Even if Lobelia were a danger to me, I couldn't 
investigate her son's disappearance. Sam wouldn't let me." He smiled at Sam, who 
was nodding solemnly in affirmation.  "I'm not up to running around Hobbiton and 
looking into mysterious happenings."

"You don't have to run about," Merry offered.  "We'll do it. Sam will help too--
won't you, Sam?" 

"You could figure this puzzle out without leaving Bag End," Pippin added.

Frodo laughed.  "What extraordinary faith the two of you have in my 
intelligence! Especially after..." he sombered quickly, "after the last time I 
stuck my nose in where it didn't belong."

"That wasn't your fault, Frodo," Merry said sympathetically.  "You were only 
trying to help me, and you can't blame yourself for what happened afterwards." 
He went to stand behind Frodo, then hugged him around the shoulders from the 
back, and kissed the top of his head.  "I'm glad you stuck your nose into that 
mess and got me out of trouble. You can at least do the same for yourself."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," Frodo conceded.  "I don't have much of a choice, 
if I expect to have any peace."

!~|v|~!

Later that evening, Sam went out to the Green Dragon with Merry and Pippin to 
pick up gossip. They had discussed their plans, and all agreed that this would 
be the most effective way to get information. Hobbits loved few things more than 
talking about their neighbors' comings and goings--and surely all of Hobbiton 
was talking about _this_. Why not take advantage of it, and learn as much as 
they could?

At the Green Dragon, the three soon separated. The tavern was busy that evening, 
and crowded. They made their way to the bar together, but while Merry and Pippin 
were obtaining their first half-pints of ale from the maid on duty, a sturdy, 
dark-curled hobbit at a table in the far corner began to wave eagerly to draw 
their attention. 

"Pip! Merry! Over here!"

It was Milo Burrows, Frodo's first cousin on the Brandybuck side, and therefore 
a first cousin once-removed to Merry and a more distant cousin to Pippin. He was 
about 15 years their senior and bore a strong resemblance to Frodo, enough that 
he might be taken for Frodo's more solidly-built older brother. His wife, Peony, 
was Frodo's second cousin on the Baggins side. Sitting with Milo was Lad 
Whitfoot, the Mayor's son, a large and somewhat thick-headed, but good-hearted 
boy. Since Lad and Milo were old friends, and as good a point as any to begin 
the evening's work, the two picked up their mugs of ale and went over to join 
them. 

"Hullo!" Milo greeted them.  "I haven't seen either of you in awhile. I was so 
sorry to hear about your recent family tragedy in Buckland, Merry, but I'm glad 
to see you've come through it all right." If he had heard anything else about 
the tragedy or its aftermath, Milo did not allude to it.  "What brings you lads 
to Hobbiton?"

"We're visiting Frodo," Merry explained as he and Pippin seated themselves.  
"You're not usually in this neighborhood yourself."

"I'm here to look at some ponies," said Lad.

"Lad's- ah- helping me pick out a new one," Milo explained.  "We're going to 
take it to the races at Michel Delving in June." 

Lad nodded in agreement.  "The one Milo had last year wasn't any good--but we'll 
do better this season!"

Merry and Pippin nodded knowingly. The races were a popular pastime; during the 
summer months, farmers and gentlehobbits from all over the Shire would bring 
their best ponies on designated days to run the length of the Michel Delving 
fairground field. It was not unheard of for wagers to be made over which pony 
was the fastest. They had been there a few times themselves, though they were 
not as keen on the sport as some of the other young hobbits. Lad was 
particularly well known as having a good eye for a swift pony. 

"What about you, Milo?" asked Pippin.  "Are you here just for the ponies too?" 
The Burrowses' home was in the Eastfarthing, near Frogmorton. 

"Actually, Peony and I are living in Hobbiton now," Milo answered.  "We're 
staying at Aunt Dora's, helping to look after her." Dora, the elder sister of 
Frodo's father, was the oldest living Baggins apart from the long-absent Bilbo.  
"She's grown a bit dotty now that she's so advanced in years. Angelica's been 
staying with her, but the old lady's gotten to be a bit much for the girl to 
manage by herself, and a pretty girl like our Angelica can't be sitting at home 
all the time. She's got to have her social life--isn't that right, Laddie?"

Lad blushed and sipped his ale. 

"Have you been around Hobbiton long?" Pippin asked both.  "What's the latest 
news? Anything interesting going on?" 

"As a matter of fact, we've been having a good bit of excitement here," Lad 
answered.  "Milo and I were just talking about it." 

"About what?" Pippin prompted.

"Nothing so horrible as the Brandybucks have suffered," Milo said after a 
moment's hesitation.  "Staying with Frodo, you might've heard already: Lotho's 
disappeared."

"Yes, we've heard something of it," Merry said disingenuously. 

"No one knows what's happened to him," said Lad.  "The sherriffs are going about 
asking all kinds of questions--who saw Pimple last, who's been having quarrels 
with him, who'd like to be rid of him, and so on."

"We had one at the house this morning." With a glance at Robin Smallburrows, who 
was seated near the bar, Milo lowered his voice.  "They'd heard that Peony and I 
had had some problems with Lotho."

"Did _you_ want to get rid of him, Milo?" Pippin asked. Merry shot him a sharp 
look for so obviously pumping for information, but Pippin ignored it. Sometimes, 
the direct approach was the most effective when you wanted to find things out.

Milo's face went red, but he laughed at the question.  "Not badly enough to do 
anything about it! I wish him no harm, but frankly, I wouldn't mind if he did go 
away and we never had to hear from him again, for Peony's sake."

"What's he done to Peony?" Pippin went on pumping.

"Oh, it's nothing really," Milo insisted dismissively.  "A property dispute over 
some land up between Needlehole and Nobottle that's been in the Baggins family 
for ages. Lobelia seems to think it should have gone to her husband and, through 
him, to Lotho, instead of portioned out to Peony and her brothers after their 
father died last year. I imagine Frodo has some claim to it as well, but he has 
no reason to bother himself about a few acres of farmland miles away to the 
north. _He's_ got Bag End and no children to provide for. We've got our four 
little ones to think of.

"I thought that the matter had been settled last summer, until Lotho started 
fussing about it again a couple of months ago. Lobelia may have given up, but 
Pimple wants that bit of land badly enough to put up a fight for it. He's been 
sending us letters, making threats of going to law, making a nuisance of 
himself..."

"What's so special about it?" Merry asked, intrigued.

"Not a thing! It's only recently that I learned- Well, I'd guessed what Lotho 
wants it for."

!~|vi|~!

Sam, meanwhile, had gone to join Robin Smallburrows once he saw the sherriff 
seated with Tom and Nibs Cotton. He'd hoped to find Robin here tonight. Robin, 
like the handful of other sherriffs who were assigned to Hobbiton and Bywater, 
had an established set of rounds to visit in the towns and at the neighboring 
houses and farms to see that all was well. Since Robin's rounds ended here at 
the Green Dragon, he usually stopped for a half-pint or two after he'd finished 
his duties. It was not remarkable to see him sitting at his favorite table near 
the end of the bar at this time of the evening. 

"Mind if I sit with you lads?" Sam asked.

"Not at all!" In fact, Robin looked quite happy to see him, and pushed out the 
last empty chair at the table for Sam to sit down.  "I thought you was angry 
with me, Sam. I'm awful sorry I had to come asking questions after Mr. Baggins 
this morning." 

"No hard feelings," Sam replied. If he wanted Robin to tell him anything useful, 
he couldn't hold a grudge; he needed the sherriff's goodwill and friendship.  
"You were only doing your duty, as Mr. Frodo said himself. But, look here, 
Robin--that's just why I've come to speak to you." Sam made no pretense about 
what he was after.  "I mean to be a help to Mr. Frodo. I won't have people going 
around saying things about him." He frowned seriously, quashing any smiles that 
might have appeared on his friends' faces. His older brothers and the Cotton 
boys had teased him about his earnest devotion to his pretty gentleman even 
before he and Frodo had ever left the Shire, long before there was anything to 
tease him about.  "There won't be any gossip about how he made away with Mr. 
Lotho."

"You needn't worry for your Mr. Frodo, Sam," Robin assured him.  "He's under no 
suspicion, except by Mrs. Sackville-Baggins. _She_ came around to see the Chief 
Shirriff this afternoon and wanted to know why we hadn't arrested Mr. Frodo--and 
she was told there's nothing against him. Plenty of folk saw Mr. Lotho around 
Hobbiton after your quarrel. That shut her up and sent her off, but I expect 
she'll be back soon enough if we don't find her son." 

Sam was relieved to hear this.  "What d'you think happened to him?" 

"I'll tell you this much--From what we hear, Mr. Lotho's taken trips away 
before. Sometimes he's gone for days. Now, it's usual he writes his mother, and 
this time she's had no word from him."

"Where does he go?" 

Robin shook his head.  "That, we haven't learned yet, but I'll wager that's 
where he is now." He leaned over the table toward Sam to impart confidential 
information.  "Besides, Mr. Frodo's not the only one Lotho Sackville-Baggins had 
a quarrel with lately. Why, the Cottons was just telling me how he'd been 
behaving himself most ungentleman-like here right at the Dragon that same 
Trewsday night." 

The Cottons both nodded in confirmation.  "He must've had more ale'n was good 
for him, and got into a fight with Mr. Aladell Whitfoot," Tom told Sam, and 
inclined his head in the direction of the table at the other end of the room, 
where Lad was sitting with Merry, Pippin, and Milo. 

"A fight?" asked Sam.
 
"They'd've come to blows if we hadn't pulled `em apart," said Nibs.  "Mr. Lad 
was sitting down at that same table, when Mr. Lotho came over to him. They was 
talking too softly to be heard, but Mr. Lad must've said something that Mr. 
Lotho couldn't take--not meaning to, I would guess by the look of him. He was 
surprised as anybody else-"

"But suddenly Mr. Lotho started shouting," Tom added excitedly, wanting to tell 
his share of the tale as well. 

"He was banging on the table-" Nibs interjected.

"-and when he started climbing over it to get at Mr. Lad, we went to put a stop 
to things," Tom finished for his brother.  "Can't have folk, even those from the 
fine families, turning our Dragon into a brawling-house where you can't have a 
sip of ale in peace, or want to see your sister serving at."

"Mr. Lotho stormed out after that," Nibs concluded.  "He said the days when folk 
called him 'Pimple' was over with."

"If you ask me, it looks like he was picking arguments with everybody who'd ever 
crossed him," said Robin.

"That must be half o' Hobbiton!" Tom laughed.

"He's been quarreling with Mr. Milo Burrows and his Missus," Robin went on, "and 
he's argued with Ted Sandyman over some business at the mill. Mr. Lotho said Ted 
had cheated him, and he threatened revenge. He had hard words with the 
Proudfoots awhile ago, with Old Mr. Odo and his grandson Sancho over a prank of 
the lad's."

"He's has some words with your dad too," Nibs added, "for sticking up for Mr. 
Frodo when you were away, and not giving over the keys to Bag End. You know Mr. 
Lotho never forgave or forgot that."

Sam did know it, but he hadn't known that Lotho was continuing to bother his 
father about it all these months later. 
 
"I suppose he figured that if he and his mum were in the house when Mr. Frodo 
returned, they wouldn't have to give it back," said Tom. 

The trio's mugs were empty. Although he hadn't finished his own ale, Sam offered 
to fetch the next round. It was only decent to pay for the information he'd been 
given. He headed for the bar, but hesitated when he saw that Rosie, Tom's and 
Nibs' sister, was now tending the taps. She hadn't been there when he'd come in, 
and he'd hoped she would not be working at the Dragon this evening. He always 
felt shy and awkward whenever he had to speak to her. He'd never made any 
promises to her--never once spoken to her as a suitor--but somehow he couldn't 
help feeling that by choosing to stay with Frodo, he had done her a wrong.

Summoning his nerve, he stepped forward.  "Four halves, please," he said, and 
put the pennies down on the bar.

Rosie scooped up the coins, popped them into her apron pocket, and turned to the 
huge kegs stacked against the back wall.  "We don't see you as much as we used 
to, Sam Gamgee," she said while she filled the mugs.  "Even since you come home 
from your adventures. The lads missed you, and so did I."

"I've got other things to do these days," Sam answered gruffly, at once 
apologetic and defensive.  "I can't spend my time sitting 'round the Green 
Dragon anymore."

Rosie nodded.  "How's Mr. Frodo? I've heard tell he's been sick abed." 

"That's right, and I've got to look after 'm. I'd be there now, only..." He 
turned to look at his friends at the table, waiting for their ales. He told 
himself that what he was doing tonight _was_ looking after Frodo--protecting his 
good name, which was just as important as seeing that Frodo kept warm, well-fed, 
and rested. Nevertheless, he felt a sudden yearning to return home right away. 
He'd gotten enough news to take back to Frodo for one night.

"Maybe we'll see more of you once he's well again?" Rosie said hopefully as she 
set the mugs down on the bar.

"Maybe," Sam mumbled.  "Thanks, Rose." He gathered up the four mugs and took 
them over to the table to distribute to his friends, ignoring the teasing 
remarks from Tom and Nibs about how long he'd been in conversation with their 
sister. 

Sam set the fourth mug down at the center of the table.  "There," he said.  "The 
first one to finish his mug can have that. I've got to be leaving."

!~|vii|~!

When Sam returned to Bag End, Frodo was reclined on the settee before the parlor 
fire, just as he'd been when they'd left him, with a blanket tucked over his 
knees and a book open in his lap. He looked up and smiled as Sam came into the 
room.  "I didn't expect you back for at least another hour. Where are Merry and 
Pippin?"

"Oh, they're still at the pub. But I wanted to come home." Sam had in fact 
walked very quickly and was breathing a little hard.  "I was worried about you, 
left here alone." And, sitting down at Frodo's feet, he leaned in to kiss him.  
"I missed you." 

Frodo set his book down and, as Sam moved closer, reached up to wrap both arms 
around his neck.  "I missed you too." When Sam kissed him again, more 
insistently this time, and reached up beneath the blanket to play with the curly 
hair on his toes, he was surprised, but not unpleased, by the sudden display of 
affection. Since their return from Buckland, they had slept beside each other, 
had cuddled and kissed, but had not made love. Sam had been so careful with him 
during his days of illness, and it was wonderful to be handled with a touch of 
passion again.  "Have we time before Merry and Pip are back?" 

"Plenty. Are you feeling up for it?"

"Yes, please!" Frodo shouted out loud in astonished delight when Sam scooped him 
up, blanket, book, and all, and carried him to the bedroom.

Only after they had spent a steady half-hour making up for lost time did Sam 
tell Frodo what he'd learned:

"It seems like Mr. Lotho's been getting into no end of quarrels--even fights!--
all over Hobbiton. Your cousins, Mr. Milo Burrows and Mrs. Peony, for one. Robin 
didn't say what they quarreled about, but Mr. Milo was there tonight. Mr. Pippin 
and Merry was talking with him, and with Mr. Lad Whitfoot too--now, according to 
Tom and Nibs, _he_ got into an awful row with Lotho the night he went off. I 
expect you'll hear more when they come in."

As he made his report, Sam rose to wash up; Frodo lay on the bed, watching him, 
and listened so far without interruption. When Sam paused to splash his face 
with water, Frodo asked him, "You went to the Green Dragon?" 

"Yes, that's right." And Sam knew that Frodo knew it.  

"You saw Rosie Cotton too, didn't you?"

"What's that got to do with anything?" Sam lowered the towel he was using to 
blot his wet face and asked back. He felt a twinge of guilt--but why should he? 
He hadn't done a thing he ought to feel guilty about.

"Oh, nothing." Frodo lay with his head on the crook of his arm, and regarded Sam 
pensively.  "Who else?" 

"Who-?"

"You said Lotho had been in several quarrels lately. Who were the others with? 
Were there very many of them?"

"Yes, lots." Sam listed the other people Robin had mentioned, and added that 
Lotho had left Hobbiton mysteriously several times before.  "D'you mean to go on 
investigating this?" he asked when he had finished.  "Robin says you're not 
suspected."

"And I'm happy to hear it," said Frodo, "but I'd like to wait for Merry and 
Pippin to get in and hear what they have to say before I decide if I want to go 
on." 

Sam pulled his nightshirt on over his head.  "You're sure you want to? It'll be 
hard on you if you do, just like before," he warned Frodo, remembering too well 
the results of the last time they had gone around conducting an investigation.  
"I don't mean just your running about, either, but what'll happen if one of your 
family has a part in Mr. Lotho's disappearing. You know how upset you got when 
it looked like one of your Brandybuck cousins killed Mr. Berilac."

"Yes, I know," Frodo said. As Sam returned to bed, Frodo sat up and scooted over 
a little to make room for him, then snuggled back into his arms.  "I'll be 
careful. I promise I won't be drawn so deeply into things this time. After all, 
it's only Pimple, and we've no proof that he's dead. I rather suspect he isn't. 
That means that none of my cousins could possibly have done away with him. If it 
looks like I'm becoming tired or too upset, you'll put a stop to it, won't you?" 

"You know I will," Sam told him.  "I won't have you falling ill again when 
you're barely up out of bed."

In response to this dictum, Frodo gave him a soft smile.  "You mustn't fret so 
much over my health, Sam. It's sweet of you, but I'm not as frail as _that_. 
I've rested, and I'm feeling much better." The small smile broadened.  "If you 
didn't think so too, you wouldn't have swept me up and made love to me the way 
you did just now. You wouldn't hold me so tightly if you were really afraid I'd 
break in half at the slightest touch." 

He was delivering a kiss, when they heard the front door open and Merry and 
Pippin came into the house, shouting, "Frodo, are you up?" Frodo and Sam drew 
apart quickly, and Frodo scrambled to locate and pull some nightclothes on 
before there were footsteps in the hall outside, some whispers, and then a 
tentative tap on the bedroom door. 

"It's all right," Frodo called out as he fastened his buttons.  "Come in."

His cousins burst into the room, both talking at once in their eagerness:

"Frodo! We've had the most marvelous luck-"

"We've learned all sort of things!"

"You'll never guess who we found at the Dragon. Oh, Sam told you already? Well, 
you'll never guess what Milo had to say about Pimple."

"Wait `til you hear-!" Pippin sat down on the foot of the bed. 

"Can you give me a minute?" Frodo told them, aware that Sam was pink-faced and 
embarrassed at being caught in bed with him, even if they were both sitting up 
and wearing nightshirts. Frodo didn't mind it; he was perfectly at ease with his 
cousins. They were the only people who truly knew and understood how he and Sam 
felt about each other--just as he understood them--but they were _his_ cousins, 
not Sam's, and Sam's sense of intimacy with them was more reserved. Frodo got up 
and pulled on his dressing-gown.  "I want to hear everything, but let's go into 
the kitchen. We can sit and talk more comfortably there. Besides, I think the 
two of you are a bit tipsy, and a spot of tea will clear your heads."

They went out to the kitchen. Sam put the kettle on while Merry and Pippin 
reported to Frodo.

"I don't know much about this land that was left to Peony and her brothers," 
Frodo said thoughtfully once he had heard the details of the Burrowses' problems 
with Lotho.  "I've heard it talked about before, but I've never seen it. What 
does Lotho want it for?"

"Ah, now, Milo told us something else quite interesting that might explain 
_that_," said Merry.  "Pimple and Lobelia haven't been on the best of terms 
themselves lately. It seems he wanted to marry a girl his mother didn't like. 
Somebody named Miss Daisy Puddlesby."

"Daisy Puddlesby? I've never heard of her," said Frodo.  "Any idea who she is?"

Merry looked at Pippin, and both shook their heads.  "It's not a family we 
know."

"I know the Puddlesbys," Sam told them as he brought the kettle of boiling water 
over to the table to fill the teapot.  "They have a farm outside Needlehole. My 
brother Halfred lives up that way. Daisy's one of the daughters--the eldest, I 
think."

"Farmers?" Merry brightened.  "Well, that explains a lot! We gathered that 
Lobelia didn't approve of Miss Puddlesby for marriage to her precious son. 
According to Milo, she thought the girl was a 'climber'."

"And, being one herself, Lobelia certainly ought to know a climber when she sees 
one!" Pippin interjected. 

"As long as Lobelia holds the purse in _that_ family, Lotho had to let Miss 
Puddlesby go," Merry went on, "but Milo says that he's heard that Lotho had 
defied his mother, sort of. He was still seeing this girl right before he 
disappeared."

"Do you suppose that's where he goes?" Frodo asked Sam, then explained to his 
cousins: "Sherriff Smallburrows says that Lotho has made a habit of leaving 
Hobbiton for mysterious trips before this."

"Only _this_ time he didn't write his mother to say where he was," Sam added.  
"The more I hear of it, the more it seems to me that there's naught that needs 
investigating here. Most likely, Mr. Lotho's gone off of his own choice, and no 
harm's come to him." 

"Yes, but I don't think that will satisfy Lobelia, unless we can produce Lotho, 
alive and well," said Frodo.  "If _she_ doesn't know where her son is, I'm sure 
we can rely on her to make a fuss, and make more wild accusations. And I admit 
I'm rather curious to learn what Lotho's been up to. Whatever it is, he's been 
planning it for a long time."

"Maybe they eloped?" guessed Pippin.  "Milo thought that Pimple was trying to 
get hold of that land so he could set up a home for himself and this Daisy." 

"Perhaps, but that's not where he is now. Would he be fighting so hard for it if 
he already had use of the place?" Frodo shook his head.  "No, there must be 
something more going on. Oh, I don't say that someone's made off with him. I 
believe as Sam does, that Lotho's gone away for reasons of his own, but it 
sounds as if a lot of people would be glad if he stayed away for good. There's 
no harm in asking them a few questions. We might learn something that will tell 
us where Lotho is." He looked from one cousin to the other, then to Sam.  "Can 
you speak with some of the people who've quarreled with him--Uncle Odo, Ted 
Sandyman, and so on? At least, can you speak with Milo again? I'd like to know 
more about this land that Lotho's so eager to get his hands on. If it's near the 
Puddlesby farm, that'd tell us we're looking in the right direction."

Pippin laughed.  "Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could find him hiding there, 
drag him out by his toes, and toss him onto Lobelia's doorstep? That'd settle 
things nicely."

"If you want to know more about Peony's and Milo's quarrel with Pimple, you can 
ask them yourself," Merry told Frodo.  "We've been invited to tea at Aunt Dora's 
tomorrow. You were asked to come too, Frodo. That's not 'running about,' is it?" 
he appealed to Sam. 

"I don't see why I shouldn't," said Frodo.  "Aunt Dora's house is barely a mile 
away. It's a pleasant walk on a warm, spring day, and certainly won't tire me." 
All of this was true, but Sam still looked concerned, and Frodo offered, "Why 
don't you come along, Sam?" 

"Me?" 

"Yes, why don't you? You can see for yourself that a tea party won't be too much 
for poor Frodo," Merry teased.  "And you can take him home right away if he 
shows signs of collapsing over the jam and crumpets." 

It was just as Sam had always known: Frodo would only obey him for as long as he 
wanted to. When he wanted to get up and go out, he would. A short walk to visit 
his aunt would probably do Frodo no harm. Nevertheless, Sam didn't like the idea 
of letting Frodo out of his sight for so long.  "If you must go, I might as well 
walk over with you," he conceded reluctantly.

"Then you might as well come inside," Frodo replied.  "It's about time for you 
to be introduced into Hobbiton society. Tea at Aunt Dora's is a good place to 
begin."

!~|viii|~!

The next morning, Merry stayed in at Bag End with Frodo. The two cousins had not 
had much time for confidential talk during Frodo's recent visit to Brandy Hall, 
and Frodo wanted to have a precise account of Merry's adventures in Fangorn and 
with the Riders of Rohan for his book. Frodo also planned to have Pippin recount 
his adventures in Gondor, but Pippin had been sent out that morning on a special 
errand to interview Odo Proudfoot about his 'hard words' with Lotho.

Frodo sat at his desk in the study with one of his notebooks open before him, 
writing as quickly as he could, while Merry sat close to the fire with his feet 
up on the fender. He was eating a winter apple as he told his tale.

"Now, the Lady Eowyn... You never got the chance to know her, did you, Frodo?"

"No," answered Frodo, "not well, I'm afraid. We were introduced, of course, and 
I saw her in the Houses of Healing with her arm in a sling, but I didn't talk 
with her very much. I know that she spoke highly of you. You fought by her side 
in the battle at Pelennor Fields."

"I wouldn't have been there at all if it weren't for her. She knew how badly I 
wanted to go and join the fight, and not be left behind. She wanted it as badly, 
and disguised herself as one of the men to do it. I sat before her as we rode 
into battle." Merry bit into his apple.  "And when she pulled off her helm and 
all that long, golden hair came tumbling out..." 

Frodo looked up from his notebook, smiling.  "Should Pippin be jealous?" he 
teased.

Merry laughed.  "It wasn't like that. She's twice my size! And besides, she was 
in love with Strider the whole time. We were friends, that's all. We understood 
each other. I admired her tremendously for her bravery when she faced that Lord 
of the Black Riders and fought him rather than let him touch King Theoden. She 
fought as well as any of the men. Better. She killed the winged beast the Rider 
was mounted upon with one stroke of her sword. I've never seen a woman, Big Folk 
or hobbit-kind, with that sort of physical courage." 

He chomped thoughtfully on his apple while Frodo went on writing. After a few 
minutes, Merry asked, "Frodo, do you remember there was a terrific scandal when 
we were children? The Widow Goldworthy?"

Frodo paused in his work. The name was vaguely familiar.  "Yes... Your mother 
and the aunties used to talk about her in whispers. The widow married again--and 
wasn't it to someone beneath her socially?"

"Her coachman," supplied Merry.  "Everyone said he was a climber and only after 
her money. Her family tried their best to talk her out of it, but marry him she 
did, in spite of what they said. Some people, like Mother, came around 
eventually when they saw how happy the two of them were and realized that Mrs. 
Goldworthy--or whatever her name was afterwards--didn't care if she didn't get 
invited to all the ladies' tea-parties anymore. But some people never accepted 
it. It didn't matter to them if the coachman turned out to be a kind and dear 
husband, or that the two of them loved each other deeply `til the end of their 
days. They only saw that it was a step down for her to marry him."

"Yes, I remember. Whatever made you think of her, Merry? The Lady Eowyn and her 
bravery?"

"No," said Merry, "yours and Sam's."

Frodo put his quill down.  "We aren't so very brave. We live here in secret. 
People know about you and Pippin."

"Yes, but it's different for us. We're cousins. Everyone who knows about me 'n' 
Pip assumes it's just a silly boys' game that's gone on too long, and sooner or 
later we'll give it up and do the respectable thing with a pair of suitable 
girls." He sighed.  "We may have to pick out suitable girls sooner or later in 
any case, to keep the proud names of Took and Brandybuck going--as if there 
weren't enough Tooks and Brandybucks around the Shire! Our situation isn't the 
least like the widow's." 

"But you think mine is?"

"Well, yes," Merry replied.  "People would say the same things about you and Sam 
as they did about her and her coachman--that you'd disgraced yourself by 
choosing someone beneath you, or even that you'd seduced a servant. That he was 
after your money-"

"Merry..." Frodo regarded his cousin with wide eyes.  "_You_ don't believe 
that?"

"No, of course not! I think Sam's marvelous. You couldn't have chosen better. 
But it's the sort of thing they'd say, and I don't think you'd mind it any more 
than _she_ did, not as long as you were happy. Sam's just what you want, isn't 
he?"

"Yes." Frodo gave Merry another, small smile.  "He's just what I want, and I 
don't care what people say. You see how silly the whole idea of 'proper places' 
is once you've been so far beyond it, as Sam and I have. I don't want us to go 
back. There is talk about us already, Merry. I'm just beginning to realize how 
much. Even Lotho made a remark on that day he came here. But it's only rumors so 
far. Nobody _knows_." He paused, then confided, "I don't mind it for myself, but 
sometimes I wonder if I'm being selfish, if I'm not doing what's best for Sam. 
He could do and be so much more than a nurse-maid to me. I want to show him 
that, to give him everything I can--but everything I do for him might also place 
him in an awkward position, exposed to the sort of ugly gossip you were talking 
about. For example, I've made out my will in his favor."

Merry sat upright, alert at this last piece of information. His mouth moved 
soundlessly over the word 'will'; Frodo nodded, but refused to meet his cousin's 
searching gaze as he went on:

"That will make a gentleman of him, beyond question. He'll be Master of Bag End 
after I'm gone. But can you imagine what people will say? Sam might wish I'd 
left him a simple gardener, and left him to love someone else." 

!~|*|~!

When Pippin arrived at the Proudfoot cottage, Odo Proudfoot greeted him warmly 
and welcomed him in, but Odo's wife Prunella was more reserved; she thought that 
Pippin was a bad influence on her young grandson, Sancho, and brought out the 
worst in the already-mischievous boy. Pippin thought that Sancho showed a lot of 
promise without any help from him. The elderly couple had been bringing up their 
grandson since his parents' deaths when he was very small, and they tended to be 
both indulgent and overly protective of him.

"Where is Sancho, by the way?" Pippin asked after he had been in the house long 
enough to notice that the boy was not around. 

"He isn't here," said Odo.  "We've sent him off to stay with our Brockhole 
relations for awhile."

"Not because of this business with Lotho Sackville-Baggins?"

"You know about that, Pippin Took?" asked Prunella.

"Oh, yes," Pippin admitted frankly.  "All of Hobbiton's talking about it. It 
sounds as if the shirriffs are asking everyone how they got on with Lotho."

"No one 'got on' with Lotho," Odo answered, "and we're on better terms with him 
than most, being neighbors as we are. You're quite right, Pip--we sent Sancho 
away because of Lotho. Sancho got up to some mischief around the Sackville-
Baggins house awhile ago, and after what Lotho said to him, we were worried he 
might do some harm to the lad."

"You mean, Lotho actually threatened him?" asked Pippin, amazed. 

"You know how Lotho will spout off," said Odo.  "He said that if the boy ever 
set foot on his property again, he'd be sorry he was ever born. He'd get just 
what was coming to him--Lotho'd see to that."

"Well, really now-!" Prunella interjected under her breath.  "Even if Lotho were 
only blustering, that's too harsh to stand for."

"There might've been nothing in it," her husband said, "but I didn't like the 
sound of it all the same myself. I thought it best if Sancho was out of his 
sight for awhile."

"What on earth did Sancho do to make him so angry?" Pippin wondered. He knew 
that Sancho was capable of some remarkable stunts. One of the reasons why Merry 
and Frodo had sent him on this errand alone was because the last time the two of 
them had seen Sancho, they had tossed the boy bodily out of Bag End; during the 
confusion the day after Bilbo's birthday party and mysterious disappearance, 
they had found Sancho digging holes in the pantry, searching for the hidden 
hoard of Bilbo's legendary dragon's gold.

"I couldn't say," answered Odo.  "I only know that the boy had been off around 
the Sackville-Baggins place that evening--it was weeks ago now. Lobelia was 
away, and Lotho was home alone. Pru, when did Lobelia go off to visit your 
relations in Hardbottle?" Prunella, like Lobelia, was a Bracegirdle by birth. 

"The first week of April," Mrs. Proudfoot replied.  "It's been nearly two 
months."

"That long?" Odo looked surprised, and a little sad, that Sancho had been away 
for so many weeks.  "Well, Pippin, as I said, it was after dark, and Sancho was 
late for supper, so I thought he must be up to something! We were just looking 
out the door for him, when all of a sudden, he comes tearing home fast as his 
feet could carry him, with Lotho running at his heels, shouting his threats and 
cursing fit for no decent hobbit to hear. Pru got the lad safely into the house 
before Lotho could catch him, and I stood firm before the door, and wouldn't let 
him pass. When I asked what it was all about, Lotho wouldn't tell me, beyond 
that the boy had been where he shouldn't--'prying and spying' was what he said. 
Sancho must've seen or heard something that Lotho didn't like, but if he did, 
Sancho never told us what it was either. The boy was too scared after what Lotho 
said to open his mouth about it. We sent him to the Brockholes up in 
Brockenborings, right afterwards. He's been nice and safe there."

"And maybe having to behave himself for the Brockholes will teach the boy a 
thing or two about making mischief!" Prunella added.

"But, you know, Pru dear," her husband observed, "now that Lotho's gone off, 
there's no reason why we can't have our Sancho back."

!~|*|~!

Pippin rushed back to Bag End to report this interesting piece of information. 
As he entered the house, he heard the murmur of low voices in the study and 
hesitated before going on, reluctant to interrupt what sounded like a private 
conversation... although he was also itching to know what Frodo and Merry were 
talking about. 

Venturing quietly toward the study, he could see Frodo seated at his writing-
desk, but not writing, and Merry leaning earnestly forward. Pippin only caught a 
few softly spoken words--

"-haven't you told him?"

"No. I've tried, but it only upsets him. Merry, please don't say-" 

--and then Merry looked up find him in the doorway; Frodo turned to see what 
Merry was looking at.

"Pip!" Merry cried.  "Back so soon?"

"You're just in time," said Frodo, and picked up his quill.  "Merry's told me 
his tales. Why don't you give us your news, and then you can tell me all about 
your adventures in Minas Tirith before lunch."

!~|ix|~!

Sam was also out that morning, for he had his own errands to run. After 
breakfast, he left Frodo in his cousin's care and went down the hill to Bagshot 
Row to have a talk with his father. 

When Sam came up to the front gate of Number 3, he found his father in the 
dooryard on his hands and knees. The Gaffer was too old to do heavy gardening 
work these days, but he wasn't happy if he didn't have some patch of earth to 
tend. 

"Blasted bindweed's worked its way through this whole piece," he told Sam 
gruffly.  "You've got to get on it quick if you don't want it taking over all 
your garden, and if the wet days hadn't worked so deep into my old bones and 
made `em ache, I'd've come to pull it up sooner. Well, I've paid the price--
there's twice as much of it to clear off now." 

Sam knelt to help him. Father and son worked silently and companionably side by 
side for several minutes, until the worst of the bindweed had been pulled up and 
bundled into a large oaken basket to be taken to the rubbish fire.

"I see you been busy putting the gardens up to Bag End back in order," the 
Gaffer said as he worked with the flat of a spade to pat down the torn-up earth 
around the young plants.  "You do your work proper--I say that for you, Samwise. 
Not forgetting what you come up to Bag End to do. Looking after Mr. Frodo proper 
too, are you?" 

"I do my best."

His father nodded approvingly.  "Now Mr. Frodo, _he's_ a real gentleman. A 
pleasure to work for, and so was Mr. Bilbo before `m. Not like some of these 
that call themselves Baggins, when they aren't." 

"You mean the Sackville-Bagginses?" Sam asked, glad to have this opening to 
bring the subject up.

The Gaffer snorted at the name, and stabbed at a stubborn remainder of the 
bindweed root.

"Here," said Sam, "why didn't you tell me Mr. Lotho's been at you about not 
letting `m into Bag End while we was gone?"

"There wasn't no need. Mr. Lotho wasn't going to get Bag End now that Mr. 
Frodo's home again, and I didn't want you carrying tales of it to Mr. Frodo. The 
poor young gent's had enough to trouble him. Feeling better, is he?"

"He's up and about," Sam reported.  "Misters Merry and Pippin came for their 
visit last night, and having them about's done Mr. Frodo some good. They've 
cheered him up." After a pause, he added, "We're going over to Miss Dora Baggins 
for tea today."

"'We'?" the Gaffer echoed.  "Miss Dora's never asked you to tea?"

"No, but Mr. Frodo wants me to come with him." 

The Gaffer shook his head, as if he didn't like this.  "You mind your manners 
when you're there, lad," he said.  "I know you'll hold your own with the fine 
folk--you've been in good company before and won't make me ashamed--but don't be 
giving yourself airs."

"No, Dad, I won't."

"You've got to watch yourself special 'round fine folk," the Gaffer said as he 
went on working.  "You're getting too many ideas since you went out into the Big 
Folk's world with Mr. Frodo, and it's best you don't. Now, I don't say Mr. Frodo 
doesn't mean right by you, Sam--I expect he does--and I know you wouldn't go 
against whatever he asks of you if it wasn't reasonable. That's only right, but 
you've got to take care you don't get out of your proper place by it. The next 
time he wants you to go with him to someplace that's above you, you might remind 
him, respectful-like, that it isn't fitting--not for him, and not for you. He 
shouldn't do it. It causes talk."

"Talk?" Sam had heard this sort of advice from his father before, but at this 
last word, he looked up, suddenly anxious.  "What kind of talk? Who's been 
talking to you?"

"Mr. Lotho, it was. He's said many a wrong thing about Mr. Frodo in his day, but 
this was something I couldn't stand for."

"What'd he say?" Sam persisted, although he knew what Lotho must have said. 

"Never you mind," the Gaffer answered.  "`Twas only some gossiping filth." He 
snorted again, more angrily this time, and slapped the ground with his spade as 
he grumbled, "Going around sayin' such things about my boy and a gentlehobbit 
like Mr. Frodo! It oughtn't be allowed. You oughtn't let yourself open to such 
talk from the likes of Lotho Sackville-Bagginses, Sam."

Sam stared at his father, frozen. He wanted to press on, to ask, 'Did you 
believe him?' or 'Had you already heard the same gossip from other folk?' but 
didn't dare. His private life wasn't what he had come here to talk about, and if 
he asked, it might lead to a conversation he wasn't ready to have. He was 
certain that the Gaffer didn't know the truth about him and Frodo, and would 
disapprove of it if he did--not so much because Sam had fallen in love with 
another boy; it wouldn't be so bad if he were playing around with one of the 
Cottons or other country lads--but because he had the appalling presumption to 
love a gentleman. Was there a worse way of showing how far he'd gotten above 
himself?

Instead, he asked, "What did you do about it?"

"I told him he'd best get out o' my garden, but Mr. Lotho wasn't about to go, 
not `til I gave `m a good push out the gate." The Gaffer lifted his spade and 
demonstrated with a fierce, upward thrust.  "He went quick enough after that! 
And good riddance!"

The door to the bungalow opened, and Sam's youngest sister Marigold came out to 
tell Gaffer that his second breakfast was laid on the table for him whenever he 
was ready to take it. She invited Sam to join them, but he refused. He had 
another task to accomplish this morning, one he looked forward to less than a 
visit with his family.  

Once he'd made his farewells, Sam went down the lane into Bywater, to the 
Sandyman mill.

!~|*|~!
 
As Sam went into the mill, the constant whirling and creaking and groaning of 
machinery surrounded him. It was late morning, the busiest time of the day, but 
even when the millstones were not engaged in grinding wheat and corn, the 
waterwheel placed where the Rushock stream flowed into Bywater Pool was always 
turning. Sam was nervous whenever he went near the mill and rarely ventured 
inside. One of the reasons he and Ted Sandyman never got on was that Sam did not 
like nor trust complex machinery, while Ted seemed to thrive on its workings. 
Since he'd been old enough to join his father in the business, Ted had been 
making what he called "improvements" to the old mill; Sam thought he'd only made 
it more noisy.

Old Sandyman, the mill owner, was occupied with his foreman over the loading of 
some large bags of flour onto the cart for delivery, but he smiled when he saw 
Sam. Sandyman was a longstanding friend of the Gaffer's.  "What brings you here, 
young Sam?" he asked once Sam had come close enough to hear him.

"I'm looking for Ted, if he's not busy."

"Oh, my Ted's always busy." Old Sandyman nodded to indicate his son, who was 
perched on the edge of a platform above the row of grinding mills; Sam didn't 
know exactly what Ted was doing, but he thought that the contraption must be 
broken somehow, for the gears immediately below Ted were not a whirl of motion 
like the others on either side, and there was a long, wooden pole that came down 
from the rafters standing askew as if it had been pulled out of place. Ted was 
scowling into a large, round, wooden tub on the platform that had had its 
funnel-shaped top removed.

Sam crossed the work floor to stand below the platform.  "Here, Ted!" he shouted 
up to be heard over the noise of the mills.  "Ted Sandyman!"

Ted looked down, and grinned.  "If it isn't Sam Gamgee!" he shouted back.  "What 
brings you here?"

"I want to talk to you! Can you come down?"

Ted put both hands on the edge of the platform to climb down; he dropped over 
the edge and hung on for a second, dangling, swinging with his arms 
outstretched, then landed to stand in front of Sam.  "Now, what's this about, 
Sam? It's not like you to come visiting the mill."

"It's about Lotho Sackville-Baggins," Sam explained, hoping that he wasn't 
shouting loud enough for everyone in the mill to hear.

"Lotho Sackville-Baggins?" Ted repeated.  "Whatever for?"

"I want to know about your quarrel with him. What sort of business was he going 
in with you?"

"The shirriffs have already asked me about that!" Ted laughed with a jeering 
note.  "You planning on becoming a shirriff, Sam?"

"No," said Sam.  "I only want to find out where he's gone. Mr. Frodo's asked me 
to. He wants to know where his cousin is."

"I wouldn't think he'd care."

"He mightn't," Sam admitted, "only Mrs. Sackville-Baggins's going around saying 
things against him and we want to put a stop to it." He knew that Ted had no 
more liking for Lobelia than he did, and this appeal might convince him to help.  
"You don't know where he is, Ted, do you?"

"I have no idea!" Sam's plea did not have the hoped-for effect, for Ted's face 
darkened angrily.  "If you're hoping to blame me to save your precious Mr. 
Frodo, it won't work. I don't know a thing about Lotho Sackville-Baggins' 
whereabouts, and you can't prove otherwise!" Ted stormed off, leaving Sam 
standing baffled.

!~|x|~!

At tea-time that afternoon, the four hobbits walked to the ancient Baggins 
family smial on the far side of Hobbiton. One of the oldest homes in the 
village, it was officially named Balbo's Pride after the Baggins who had first 
tunneled into the hillside over 200 years ago, but was more frequently referred 
to as the Old Baggins Place, or simply the Old Place. This was where Frodo's 
parents would have made their home if they hadn't been invited to live at Brandy 
Hall, and where Frodo might have grown up if Aunt Dora had taken him in instead 
of the Brandybucks. 

The hobbits had all dressed in their best. At Frodo's insistence, Sam had taken 
particular care, bringing out the carefully stored golden-brown velvet coat and 
brocade waistcoat that had been made for him in Minas Tirith for Aragorn's and 
the Lady Arwen's wedding. He felt odd being dressed so fancy here in the Shire, 
but Frodo assured him that he looked very handsome, and every inch a gentleman.

The Burrows children were playing on the grassy slopes atop the Old Place, but 
they stopped their game and gave excited yelps of welcome when they saw the 
visitors coming up the lane. The children ran down to greet their older cousins 
as they came in at the front gate, clinging to legs, tugging on coattails and 
sleeves, clamoring for hugs and kisses, and the smallest child begging to be 
picked up. Merry obliged, and carried little Minto to the front door, where 
Peony stood smiling. 

Peony Burrows was a plump, motherly hobbit in her middle-40's, her hair somewhat 
mussed and the apron tied over her print dress bearing smudges of flour as 
evidence that she had been baking.  "When I heard the commotion outside, I knew 
it must be you," she said as she removed her youngest from Merry's shoulders, 
set the child down, and shooed him and his brothers and sister off.  "Since Milo 
told us you were coming, the children have been looking for you all afternoon. I 
told them you'd play with them after tea." She ushered the boys into the entry 
hall.  "I'm so glad you could come, Frodo. You're looking very well. Aunt Dora's 
asked after you specially. She says she doesn't see enough of you." If she was 
surprised to see Sam, Peony did not show it, but greeted him as graciously as 
the others, then escorted them all down the winding main hallway to the best 
parlor, where Aunt Dora sat waiting.

"Here's some visitors for you, Auntie!" Peony announced brightly. 

Dora was seated in a comfortable chair before the fire with a shawl wrapped 
around her shoulders and her ash-gray curls tucked neatly under a lace cap. She 
was knitting, needles moving so briskly that the ball of woolen yarn on the 
floor beside her workbasket jerked at each twitch of the thread, until at last 
it rolled away across the hearth. At Peony's words, she looked up, set her 
knitting down in her lap, and said, "Come in, boys! Please, come in."

"Why don't you lads sit down, and I'll get the tea things," Peony said, and 
returned to the kitchen.

"Yes, sit down." Dora gestured to the long settee by the parlor window.  
"Peregrin, Meriadoc--my, how nice you both look! Quite neat and tidy, not like 
the last time I saw you. Bilbo's birthday party, that was. You'd been playing 
with rockets like the naughty boys you are, and got yourselves all covered in 
soot. You looked quite a fright! And how much you lads have grown since then. 
Here, Frodo, sit by me." The old lady indicated another overstuffed chair on the 
opposite side of the hearth.  "You look quite a picture, as always, dear boy, 
but you've been very naughty yourself. You don't come to see your old auntie as 
often as you should. I hope that will change. And..." Dora peered near-sightedly 
at Sam, who was lingering by the doorway.  "I don't believe I know you, lad. 
You're not one of my nephews, are you?"

"No'm," Sam answered, ducking his head shyly. He was beginning to feel that his 
father was right; he'd overstepped himself by coming with Frodo. He didn't 
belong here. It wasn't his place to be sitting in Miss Dora Baggins' best 
drawing room! 

"This is Sam Gamgee," Frodo introduced him.  "You know Sam, Auntie Dora. 
Remember?"

"Gamgee? Not the Gaffer's youngest boy?" She peered at Sam more closely.  "Yes, 
I remember. I've heard a thing or two about you. You're living at Bag End now, 
aren't you?" 

"Yes'm," Sam answered.  "I look after Mr. Frodo."

"I'm afraid I haven't been very well lately," Frodo added.

"So I've heard. It's all this traveling to the far-and-wilds on adventures 
that's ruined your health. Just like Bilbo! _He_ was never the same after he 
went off, and look how he ended up!"

"Yes, you're quite right, Aunt Dora, and no doubt I'll end up the same way," 
Frodo replied with good humor.  "But in the meantime, I need someone to watch 
over me--a friend, not a servant--and Sam has kindly agreed to come and stay." 
Frodo took the chair near his aunt, and urged Sam to sit down as well. Sam took 
the tuffet beside Frodo's chair. 

"Well, I never heard of such a thing," Dora said, shaking her head, "but I 
daresay you boys have picked up all sorts of odd, new ideas on your travels. I 
won't call it good nor bad `til I see how it turns out. I've heard quite a lot 
about the two of _you_ as well," she told Merry and Pippin.  "How you won't 
settle down and marry like proper lads your age, but will go on playing games 
and keeping house with each other. Esmeralda must be disappointed, knowing she 
has no hope of grandchildren any time soon."

"Actually, Mother's taken it rather well," Merry replied cheerfully.  "She's too 
young to be made a grandmother just yet. It's Father who's caused all the 
trouble." 

The door opened as Angelica Baggins came into the room, bringing the tea-tray. 
She was a very pretty girl with a delicate, heart-shaped face framed by long, 
flaxen ringlets that were held by blue ribbons that matched her cornflower blue 
eyes.

"Jelly, hello!" Pippin greeted her. It was a teasing reminder of the nickname 
the boys had called her during her roly-poly childhood. 

Angelica, who had only outgrown her pudginess in her recent tween years, did not 
appreciate the reminder; she made a face at him--unseen by Aunt Dora--as she set 
the tray down on the low table by the old lady's chair.  "How kind of you to 
remember, Pippin Took," she said.  "It's almost as if we never left the 
nursery." Arranging her skirts carefully and attractively around herself, the 
girl knelt beside the table to pour out and fix a cup of tea the way her great-
aunt liked it.  "And Merry Brandybuck--how nice to see you again." 

"Do you see who else is here, Angelica?" Dora prompted.

"Yes, I see. Hello, Frodo." Angelica turned to him with this unenthusiastic 
greeting and the merest of polite smiles.  "Aunt Peony told me you'd come."

"He came specially to see us," said Dora pleasedly.  "But you can't imagine it's 
his old auntie alone that brings him across town."

Frodo didn't understand this remark. It sounded as if Dora was suggesting he was 
here to see Angelica, but that was plainly nonsense. In the first place, no one 
had told him that Angelica was at Aunt Dora's. In the second place, he'd never 
been fond enough of this particular cousin to go out of his way to visit her.

It seemed that his feelings were reciprocated, for the corner of Angelica's 
mouth turned down at her great-aunt's words, and she did not reply.  "Cream, or 
sugar?" she asked Frodo as she filled a second teacup.

"A little of both, please." When Angelica handed him the cup of tea, Frodo 
passed it to Sam. The girl lifted her eyebrows at this, and considered Sam with 
curiosity as she prepared another cup for Frodo.

"And what brings _you_ here?" she asked Pippin and Merry as she gave them their 
tea.  "I know you'd rather be off at one of the taverns. They're just opening 
their doors at this hour, aren't they?" 

"Actually, we're here to ask about Lotho." Pippin took the direct approach 
again. 

"Lotho?" Angelica looked surprised.  "What would we have to say about _him_?"

"His disappearance concerns the whole family, one way or another," said Frodo.  
"I'd like to know where he's gone to."

"Aren't you curious at all, Jelly?" Merry asked.

"I could care less," Angelica answered with a toss of her ringlets.  "It's 
nothing to do with me."

"I can tell you one thing certainly," Dora declared.  "This is all Lobelia's 
doing."

No one took this statement as a serious accusation. It was well known that Dora 
and Lobelia had been feuding for more years than any of the young hobbits had 
been alive, as the two ladies vied for the position of family matriarch. Most of 
the Bagginses preferred to put up with Dora's meddling and advice rather than 
submit themselves to Lobelia's sharp tongue since, unlike Lobelia, Dora did mean 
well and was very generous to the relatives she was most fond of. Having no 
children of her own, she could afford to divide her interest among a number of 
family members she found worthy of attention. She would be leaving the Old Place 
to one of them; speculation favored Frodo, who was her closest relative, but as 
far as anyone knew, Dora had settled on no heir yet.

Bilbo could never abide his cousin Dora. After Frodo had come to live with him, 
Dora had sent him frequent, long letters full of advice concerning her nephew's 
upbringing, which Bilbo promptly tossed into the trash.

"You don't think she's done away with her own son, Aunt Dora?" Merry asked 
playfully.

"No, you imp," replied the old lady, "but whatever's happened to Lotho, you can 
be sure that Lobelia's led him into it. She's always pushed herself and her 
family forward. Calling her husband the head of the Baggins family was 
ridiculous when he was alive--imagine, Otho heading anything but a dinner 
table!--but she's only grown worse since he died." This was familiar ground; all 
of them had heard Dora's opinion of Lobelia many times before.  "Head of the 
Bagginses! Why, they're not even full Bagginses, only half-Bagginses with that 
'Sackville' tacked on when there's not a true Sackville left living from one end 
of the Shire to the other. Putting on airs is what I call it. Lobelia's ruined 
that son of hers by giving him ideas of what he ought to have by rights, when he 
had no right to it! Why, Lobelia's even had an eye on Angelica as a wife for her 
Lotho--but Angelica, I'm happy to say, wouldn't consider it. Sensible girl! Why 
don't you marry her, Frodo?"

"Me, Auntie?" Frodo said, startled as his aunt turned abruptly to him with this 
unexpected question. Sam, beside him, was sitting straight as a poker, and Frodo 
was aware that Angelica was also very still--her hand holding the tiny silver 
cream pitcher had frozen, poised over a teacup--and although her head was down, 
she was watching him through lowered eyelashes. 

"Yes, why not? Marriage is the best thing for a young hobbit." Dora herself had 
never married.  "Angelica's not of age yet, but she will be soon, and she's got 
a lot of good, Baggins common sense. She'd keep you from going peculiar, Frodo, 
like your Uncle Bilbo. No more going off to have adventures! You'd settle right 
down and she'd look after you well enough. Marry Angelica, and I'll leave this 
house to you."  

"It's very generous of you to offer, Aunt Dora," Frodo said diplomatically, "but 
there must be other members of the family in greater need of it. I already have 
a home I'm quite fond of."

"It never hurts to keep an extra house or two in the family," Dora replied, 
undeterred.  "It may come in handy one day. This house is half yours, you know, 
through your poor father Drogo."

Angelica lifted her head.  "Don't be silly, Auntie," she said in a patient tone, 
but her eyes were flashing with stronger emotions.  "You know I'm going to marry 
Lad Whitfoot." 

"You could do better, dear. Frodo's much handsomer than Aladell Whitfoot, and 
richer and more clever too. A Mayor's son? Frodo could be Mayor himself if he 
had a mind for it. A pretty girl like you could have anybody she liked."

"Then I'd like to have Lad," Angelica retorted. Her cheeks were bright pink, and 
Frodo was sure that his own face was a similar color. If this was the usual way 
Dora spoke of him to Angelica, he couldn't blame the girl for resenting his 
presence.  "Frodo doesn't care a straw for me... and besides," glancing up at 
her cousin, Angelica added archly, "I've heard that he's already spoken for." 

Frodo sat very still now; he heard Sam gasp in a sharp intake of breath. He 
hadn't realized that the rumors had gone so far. If Angelica had heard the 
gossip about them, who else in the family had? 

"Frodo? Spoken for?" Dora echoed with keen interest.  "Now where did you hear 
that?"

"Oh, it's just a rumor that's going around," Angelica retreated quickly, aware 
by the way the boys were staring at her that she had gone too far.  "You know 
how people gossip, Auntie--there may be nothing in it at all." The girl rose and 
kissed the old lady's cheek before leaving the room.

"Frodo," Dora turned to her nephew, question on her lips; Frodo wondered how he 
could possibly answer, when Peony came in, apron off and hair fixed neatly, 
bearing a large platter crowded with dozens of little cakes. Milo followed with 
one plate piled high with sandwiches in either hand. Frodo was saved from 
awkward explanations as everyone helped themselves to the food. Dora made a few 
feints at drawing his attention, but gave it up when she realized that Frodo was 
doing his best not to answer her; the lady thereafter nibbled on a cake, sipped 
her tea, and considered her nephew thoughtfully. Angelica returned with more 
cups and hot water to replenish the teapot, but did not remain in the room long. 
The conversation continued on less personal terms.   

As the adults were finishing, the Burrows children came into the house all at 
once, clamoring for their own tea; Peony excused herself and saw to them in the 
kitchen. Merry and Pippin, who were good with children, went along to help out. 

Once he had finished his tea, Milo turned to Frodo.  "Will you come out for a 
smoke with me?" he offered.  "Auntie won't have it in the house."

Since Frodo had hoped to speak privately with Milo--and it seemed that Milo was 
eager to speak to him--he accepted the invitation.  "Will you excuse us, please, 
Aunt Dora?" he said as he rose from his chair.

"Of course, dear. Milo often goes out to smoke after a meal. I'm sure he misses 
having other gentlemen in the house to join him. Is your friend going with you?" 
Dora turned to Sam, who had barely said a word all during the visit.

When Sam looked up at him, Frodo met his eyes in apology; he knew that Sam would 
have preferred to go with him, but Milo would not confide in him easily if 
someone else were there.  "I wouldn't like to leave you entirely by yourself, 
Auntie. Sam, you don't mind keeping company with Aunt Dora for awhile, do you? 
We won't be long."

Sam didn't look happy at the prospect, but he agreed.

!~|xi|~!

Milo picked up an extra pipe for Frodo from the mantelpiece in his and Peony's 
room, and they went out through a side-door into a small, fenced-in yard under 
the steep slope on the southern side of the house. They could hear Merry and 
Pippin come out through the kitchen door to play with the children on top of the 
house, but were blocked from view by a row of trees. 

Milo filled Frodo's pipe first, and gave it to him to light while he filled his 
own.  "So, Aunt Dora offered you and Angelica this house?" he asked in a casual 
tone that sounded false.

Had someone been listening at the door, Frodo wondered, or had Milo and Peony 
heard the old lady make the same kind of offer to Angelica on other occasions? 
It hadn't surprised Angelica; rather, her response to Dora's offer suggested 
that she had heard it before.

"She did, but I don't want it," Frodo told him frankly.  "I've no use for 
another house, and I've no more intention of marrying Angelica than she does me. 
You know how Aunt Dora is--she must manage everything for everybody. Old ladies 
like nothing better than to make matches. If they don't have children of their 
own, they'll marry off everyone else's! You and Peony want the Old Place, I 
presume?"

Milo nodded.  "We are hoping for it." As Milo lit his own pipe, Frodo noticed 
that the knuckles of his cousin's right hand were bruised and scraped.  "That's 
why we came here--to help look after Aunt Dora, and to give ourselves a bigger 
home. Aunt Dora's got so many extra rooms she never uses, and we've got four 
children and who knows if there might be more? The cottage my father gave us 
when we married just won't do for a growing family, and besides," he added 
reluctantly, "it's too expensive for us to keep a house of our own right now. If 
it weren't for Aunt Dora's generosity, we'd have to rent a bungalow like a 
laborer's family, and put all the children into one room."

"What about that property you have up around Needlehole?" When Milo looked 
surprised at the question, Frodo explained, "Merry and Pippin were telling me 
last night about your quarrel with Lotho over it."

"Yes, well," Milo answered.  "It's more Peony's quarrel than mine--and Porto's 
and Angelica's father, Ponto's. But it's only right that I look after my wife's 
interests. It'll be the children's interest too one day."

"Why would Lotho want it?" Frodo asked.  "After all, he's always been after Bag 
End. Is it worth anything? Is there even a house or farmstead on the land?"

"Not a livable one! I went up to look at it once last summer, just after Peony's 
father died. There's a little smial with trees atop, and the roots have grown in 
through the ceilings and walls inside. There's an old stone barn with the roof 
falling in. It needs plenty of work to repair it, but once that was done, it 
might do. I never thought that our Pimple was much of a farmer. He has all that 
land in the South Farthing where he grows pipeweed, and as far as I know, only 
goes down to nag at his agents. But from his interest in the place, I can only 
guess that he hopes to settle down there. I don't think he wants to share a home 
with his mother any longer." Milo chuckled.  "Perhaps that's why he was after 
two houses--he meant to see Lobelia installed at Bag End once he got it away 
from you! Or perhaps he wanted both because _she's_ led him to believe he had a 
right to both. That'd be just like Lotho, wouldn't it?" 

"Couldn't you sell it to him?"

"As a matter of fact, all of us talked the matter over when Lobelia first began 
to make her fuss. We agreed that if she were to offer us a fair price for the 
property, we'd accept and divide the money between us--but we certainly didn't 
intend to _give_ it over for nothing. Lobelia never did make us any kind of 
offer, and Lotho's carried on in the same line. It's rightfully his, he said. 
You know that Lotho's always had a better idea of his own rights above anybody 
else's."

"Yes, that's so," Frodo agreed.  "He only offered to buy Bag End from me when he 
thought he could get it no other way." He wondered if Lotho had been annoying 
Peony's brothers, who also had part ownership of the coveted land, with the same 
zeal, or if he had focused his attentions solely on her and Milo; everything 
Frodo had heard seemed to suggest the latter.

"Perhaps he'll make us an offer too," Milo said with a laugh.  "Peony and I 
would rather have the money, and he's welcome to the farm. The only value the 
place has as it is is from a local family who've put some of the land to use, 
and pay us rent to do so."

"Not the Puddlesbys?" asked Frodo.

Milo looked surprised again.  "Yes. You know them?"

"I only heard the name yesterday."

"And the story of Miss Daisy too, I've no doubt!" Milo smiled, but he also began 
to look nervous.  "Did Merry and Pip tell you everything we said at the Green 
Dragon last night?"

"Only the interesting bits," Frodo replied lightly, to allay his cousin's fears. 
Milo mustn't think that he was being spied upon. The truth seemed to be the best 
course.  "You must know that I've had my share of trouble from Lobelia too, and 
would like to avoid more of it if I can. I'm anxious to find out where Lotho's 
gone before she starts making accusations. Do you mind if I ask you, Milo: How 
did you get to hear of Daisy Puddlesby?" 

Milo still seemed nervous, but he agreed to answer.  "It was when one of the 
Puddlesby sons came down to Hobbiton to give us our quarterly rent, not long 
after Lotho had begun to trouble us. He mentioned that Lotho had been paying 
court to his sister. I'd heard that Lotho and Lobelia had been cool with each 
other, and even heard some gossip about a girl he wanted to marry, but I didn't 
know who it was. Once I heard Daisy's name, I guessed that Lotho must have gone 
up that way to have a look at the farm last summer, just as I had, and met her 
then. I saw at once what he must be after that land for!"

"Do you think that's where Lotho is now?" Frodo asked him.

"I suppose so," said Milo, after a pause. Then his expression brightened.  "Yes, 
that must be it! Oh, not the old farmsmial--no one could live there as it is--
but why couldn't he have gone to stay at the Puddlesby farm or somewhere else 
nearby? Don't you agree, Frodo? Why, I'll wager he's up there with his Daisy 
now! Where else could he be?"

Frodo did think that this was the most likely answer, and yet it seemed to him 
that Milo had pounced on this solution rather too eagerly. In spite of his 
knowledge about Daisy Puddlesby, the idea had obviously not occurred to him 
before Frodo suggested it. 

For the first time, a real and unwelcome suspicion began to tickle at the back 
of Frodo's mind. Milo seemed afraid that the true answer to Lotho's 
disappearance lay elsewhere, in something more unpleasant. What reason did he 
have to think so? Did Milo know more about this mystery than he was telling?

When they finished their pipes and went back into the house, Frodo found that 
Sam had moved the tuffet to sit closer to Dora's chair; he had retrieved the 
ball of yarn that had rolled away from her, and was working to untangle the 
unwound skein while the old lady chatted with him on friendly terms.

"What a sweet boy your friend is, Frodo!" Dora patted Sam's cheek 
affectionately.  "So helpful and polite. You must bring him by more often."

"Yes, Auntie," Frodo promised.  "But we really must be going now. Thanks so much 
for having us."

The two made their farewells and left the house.  

"I'm sorry I had to leave you," he murmured to Sam once they were outside.  "I 
hope Aunt Dora wasn't too difficult. It looks as if you got on very well with 
her." 

"She wasn't so bad," Sam acknowledged.  "Only... she wanted me to tell her who 
it was you'd betrothed yourself to."

"What did you say?"

Sam blushed.  "I told her it was a secret."

!~|xii|~!

As they walked away from the Old Place, Frodo turned to find Merry and Pippin on 
the hill above the house and waved to let them know that he and Sam were 
leaving. Since the two were busy playing with the children and seemed to be 
having a good time themselves, he did not expect them to come along, but Merry 
set down the little girl he was giving a pig-a-back ride, and he and Pippin came 
down amid disappointed cries from the children and pleas for promises to return. 
Frodo stood just outside the gate to wait for them.

"What do you think?" he asked once his cousins had joined him and Sam, and the 
four of them were walking together in the lane toward Bag End.

"I think that if it was Lobelia that'd disappeared, we'd all know who was 
responsible," Pippin joked.  "Dotty Aunt Dora's been in the mood to do away with 
her for years! But I can't see her getting rid of Lotho, even if she was up to 
it."  

"Did you know about Lad and Angelica?" asked Frodo.

"That they were planning to marry, no," said Merry.  "But I thought he might be 
sweet on her. Milo was teasing Lad about Angelica last night."

"Sam said that Lotho was at the Dragon last Trewsday night, shouting at Lad. 
They almost came to blows. Lad didn't say anything about it, did he?" His 
cousins both shook their heads.  "Could they have been fighting over her?" Frodo 
asked.

"If he thought he had a rival in Pimple, I could see Lad fighting for Jelly's 
sake," Merry replied.

"But from what I heard, Mr. Lotho was the one who wanted to fight," said Sam, 
"not Mr. Lad."

"And as far as we know, he's not interested in marrying Jelly anyway," Merry 
continued.  "She might be his mother's choice, but he's got that farmer's 
daughter of his tucked away in the north. It's a pity--if Lotho were after 
Angelica, I could see _her_ getting rid of him quite nicely. She's not going to 
let anybody get in her way of marrying Lad." He grinned at Frodo.  "I thought 
she was going to throw the teapot at your head today if you'd shown any 
inclination to accept Aunt Dora's offer." 

Frodo smiled in return.  "She'd have to wait behind Milo and Peony to do it. 
They're the ones who want the house most desperately. Milo even asked me about 
it. I think he was afraid I'd accepted." Then he added, more seriously, "I 
suspect that Lad's not the only one who's been in a fight recently. Milo's 
knuckles are scraped--did you notice?"

"Yes, last night," said Merry, "but I never considered..." His eyes grew larger 
as he stared at Frodo.  "Do _you_ think-?"

"I don't know, but I can see that he's worried. Maybe it's only money troubles. 
Milo told me that he and Peony are short of funds right now, which seems odd now 
I think of it. I've never seen any sign that they lived extravagantly beyond 
their means. But I have a feeling that something more than money is troubling 
Milo, something to do with Pimple. He became very nervous when he found out I 
knew about Daisy Puddlesby."

"But that's ridiculous," Pippin objected.  "Milo and Peony may have wanted to be 
rid of Pimple, but they wouldn't, not really-"

"Maybe not, but we have to think of it," Frodo informed him.  "Sam gave me a 
good scolding about that the last time. If we're going to investigate this 
properly, we can't simply say that someone or other wouldn't ever commit murder-
-even if they are family--we have to consider _everyone_ who has a reason or the 
opportunity, like it or not. And you have to assume that people will keep things 
back. He suspected everyone, didn't you, Sam?"

Merry eyed Sam.  "Even me?"

Sam did not answer this, but Frodo said, "Well, you _did_ have your reasons, 
even better ones than I realized at first, and you certainly didn't tell us 
everything you could have."

"And what about me?" Pippin pursued teasingly.

"Not suspected, exactly," Sam said, "but I thought you might lie for Mr. Merry's 
sake--and, begging your pardon, you would, wouldn't you?" 

"Well, yes, of course," Pip admitted, "but I _didn't_."

"But you see how you can't take folk at their word. If they've got something to 
hide, Mr. Milo and Missus Peony'd lie for each other just the same, and so would 
Miss Angelica for Mr. Lad Whitfoot. And you know Mrs. Sackville-Baggins would 
lie fit to move heaven 'n' earth for her son."

No one could argue with that.

Once they rounded the curve of the hill, they were in sight of Bag End.  "What 
do we do next?" asked Pippin.  "Do we go on asking questions?"

"There are a few more things I'd like to know. Is Lad staying in Hobbiton?" 
Frodo wondered.  "It seems likely to me that he is, if he wants to be near 
Angelica, but he isn't a guest at the Old Place. We would've seen him there, or 
they would've said something if he were. Besides, I don't think Aunt Dora would 
welcome him in the house if she wants Angelica to marry- ah- elsewhere. You 
don't know where he is?"

Merry shrugged.  "He might be with other friends in the town."

"Maybe he's lodged at the Dragon," said Pippin.  "They keep a room or two to let 
in the back."

"Can you find out?" Frodo requested.  "Find him and ask what Lotho said to him, 
what their fight was about. And Sam-" he turned to his friend, "you said you 
know where the Puddlesbys live? It might be worth a trip to go and talk to this 
Daisy. It wouldn't surprise me if she knows where Lotho's been all along, and it 
will save us a lot of trouble if she does." They were now on the road that led 
up to Bag End; Frodo leaned slightly against Sam.

"I'll go 'n' see the Puddlesbys, but you've got to keep your promises too," Sam 
replied. As they reached the front gate, he held it open for Frodo.  "There's 
been enough investigating for one day. You're to rest 'til dinner-time, and go 
right to bed afterwards."

"But I feel fine," said Frodo.  "I'm hardly tired at all."

"I don't want you getting tireder," Sam told him firmly.  "You aren't to sit up 
tonight talking about Mr. Lotho, and that's that."

"All right, Sam," Frodo surrendered, but his eyes were twinkling in amusement as 
he took Sam's arm and they went up the steps together.  "I'll rest."

!~|xiii|~!

"How ill do you think Frodo really is?" Pippin asked that night as he and Merry 
were getting ready for bed. 

The two had gone out to the Green Dragon after dinner, as they had the evening 
before, but Lad was not there. The barmaid informed them that Lad hadn't taken 
lodgings at the tavern; he had become a regular customer at the Dragon lately, 
but if he was staying in Bywater or Hobbiton, she didn't know where. Merry and 
Pippin had a couple of mugs of ale before returning to Bag End to find that Sam 
had left a lantern lit outside and the front door unlocked for them, but the 
house was quiet and dark when they went inside. Knowing that Frodo had already 
gone to bed, they stole quietly to their own room.

"Sam makes an endless fuss and frets over him like an old mother hen, and orders 
him about. And Frodo lets him. I think he even likes it," Pippin went on as he 
shed his clothes, tossing coat, then waistcoat, then shirt onto the chair by the 
door.  "_You_ never fuss over me the way Sam does Frodo."

"_You've_ never been sick."

"Is he sick then, Merry? Really?" There was a sudden change in Pippin's tone as 
he asked this question. Merry looked up from his own undressing and saw that 
Pippin wasn't playing; he was seriously concerned.  "It was what you were 
talking about this morning, wasn't it?"

Merry nodded.  "He isn't well," he told Pippin.  "How sick, I don't know."

"What's the matter with him? It isn't just what happened in Buckland. He's never 
been very strong since we came home."

"Not since he came back from Mordor," said Merry.  "It's the Ring. Even now that 
he's rid of it. It ate at him from the inside for so long, and it'll take a long 
time for him to heal. He's been touched by an evil thing, Pippin, and there's no 
getting over _that_." 

Pippin nodded solemnly. They all had been touched by that evil to some degree--
Frodo by far the worst, since he had carried the Ring until he had succumbed 
completely to its power, but Pippin had looked into the palantir and fallen 
under Sauron's gaze, and Merry had been stricken when he'd stabbed the Lord of 
the Nazgul. They both knew a small part of the darkness that had engulfed their 
cousin, enough to be frightened for his sake.

Merry didn't tell the whole truth, which he had realized while talking with 
Frodo that morning: Frodo would never fully recover from the Ring's influence. 
The wound had gone too deep to heal. Frodo had been about to ask him not to say 
anything when they'd been interrupted--and Merry wouldn't, not to Pippin, even 
though he was beginning to guess, and not to Sam, who must see the truth even if 
he was trying his hardest not to recognize it. It was surely the reason behind 
all his fussing. Since their conversation, Merry found it hard not to fuss over 
Frodo himself.  

Pippin, down to his smalls, climbed onto the bed to fish his nightshirt out from 
under the pillow.  "Would you look after me if I was ill, Merry?" he asked as he 
pulled the shirt on over his head.  "I looked after you, didn't I?" He had 
resumed a playful tone, but a light shone in his eyes as he smiled at his 
cousin. 

"Yes, you did," Merry answered, smiling back with affection. He knew what Pippin 
was thinking of: after he had stabbed the Lord of the Nazgul, he'd been struck 
down by a Dark Spell. An icy coldness had lay upon his heart, and darkness 
dimmed his eyes. Pippin had found him on the battlefield outside Minas Tirith 
and brought him to the Houses of Healing.  "You sat by my bedside all the time I 
was ill, and when I awoke, you were right there."

"I was never so afraid," Pippin replied.  "I thought you were going to die. You 
were lying so still and cold--like Frodo after that same Black Rider stabbed 
him. I never knew how much I loved you, 'til I thought I was about to lose you. 
I don't ever want to lose anyone I love."

Merry climbed on the bed beside him.  "I can't say that that won't ever happen," 
he said gently, "but it won't happen for a long time. Whatever will come, we 
have each other here and now." He gathered Pippin into his arms, then leaned 
over to blow out the candle on the nightstand.

!~|xiv|~!

The next day, Mersday, was the weekly market day at Bywater, and Sam delayed his 
trip to the Puddlesby farm to do some shopping. With two hungry guests to feed, 
the household stores must be kept well-supplied, and _that_ took precedence over 
any investigations. Merry and Pippin were also out that morning, continuing 
their search for Lad Whitfoot.

Left alone at Bag End, Frodo settled down to write. Once the others had gone, he 
sat in his study with Bilbo's large red book open on the desk before him and a 
freshly-dipped quill at hand, poised for his first sentence... but how to begin? 
Should he recount some of the history of the Ring first, or save that `til 
later? Perhaps he should tell the true tale of how Bilbo had gotten it from 
Gollum, and explain the earlier, not-quite-accurate version that Bilbo had 
written himself so long ago. Or perhaps it was best to begin with his own part 
of the story, with the day the Ring had come into his possession. 

Frodo considered the matter carefully, tickling the corner of his mouth with the 
feather-tip of the quill, then wrote: *When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End 
announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with 
a party of special magnificence...*

There was a knock on the door. Normally, Frodo would leave it for Sam to answer, 
but since he was alone in the house, he set down his quill, leaving the sentence 
unfinished, and went to see who his visitor could be.

Peony Burrows stood on the doorstep. 

"Good morning, Peony!" Frodo said in surprise.  "What brings you here?"

"I was on my way to the market," she explained, brandishing the oaken basket on 
her arm as evidence, "and thought I'd drop by to return your call of yesterday. 
You aren't busy, are you, Frodo?"

"No, not particularly," he answered. It was a lie, but Peony had never visited 
him before; this was obviously not a social call, and Frodo quickly decided that 
he could put his writing aside long enough to hear what she had to say.  "Come 
in, please."

He escorted her to the best parlor, then excused himself to dart into the 
kitchen. Sam had left the kettle steaming on the hob in case Frodo wanted hot 
water while he was out; it was the work of a minute to make a pot of tea and put 
the sugar bowl, two cups, and a plateful of honey-cakes on a tray. When he 
returned to the parlor, Peony was standing by the fireplace. Frodo offered her 
some tea, and they sat down together on the settee and exchanged a few 
pleasantries. He waited until his guest was composed and comfortable, and ready 
to tell him why she had come.

"Milo tells me that you were asking him about Lotho," she said at last.  "You're 
looking into the matter yourself."

"Yes, that's right," Frodo confirmed.

"I wish you wouldn't," Peony told him bluntly.  "No good can come of it. This 
disappearance of his has been difficult for everyone in the family, with the 
shirriffs asking questions. We oughtn't poke and pry at each other as well, 
stirring up all sorts of ugly suspicions. I feel we should stand together during 
this crisis, don't you?"

"Yes," Frodo agreed, "but I also believe that we must try to get at the truth."

"The truth!" cried Peony.  "The truth is that Lotho's run off with that 
farmlass, and rather than do it bravely and out in the open like any honest 
gentlehobbit, he must sneak away and hide and make a great mystery of it. He's 
upset his mother--and as little good as I have to say about Lobelia, I wouldn't 
wish anyone's son to behave that way--and he's made a lot of unnecessary trouble 
for the rest of us."

Milo had said nearly the same thing about Lotho's whereabouts, but Frodo 
wondered if Peony believed it any more than her husband did. Were they trying to 
convince themselves--or to convince him? Just as he had sensed yesterday that 
Milo was nervous, Frodo thought that Peony was frightened. 

"The only crime here is inconsiderate behavior," Peony went on, speaking 
quickly, "but what can we expect from Lotho Sackville-Baggins? He never did any 
good where he could do harm instead. Mark my words, he'll show up when it suits 
him." Her hand shook so that her tea splashed about in its cup, and she set it 
down before it spilled.  "So you see, Frodo, there's no point in prying into a 
matter that'll resolve itself as soon as Lotho decides to come home again. `Til 
then, things are distressing enough for us all. You can only make it worse if 
you go around asking into other people's private affairs--especially your own 
family's!--and, well, I wish you wouldn't, that's all," she concluded her 
outburst rather weakly.  "Please, promise me you won't."

"If you're referring to my questions to Milo, I only asked about your farm 
property in the north because I thought it might be where Lotho's gone into 
hiding," Frodo explained to try and soothe her.  "I meant nothing more by it. I 
don't wish to pry into your private affairs, Peony. I only want to find Lotho 
before Lobelia makes more trouble. You know the sort of thing she's capable of."  

"Yes..." Peony agreed reluctantly, then burst out again with the question, "You 
don't suspect Milo of doing anything to get rid of Lotho, do you?" 

Frodo didn't know how to reply without causing her greater distress, for this 
was just what he did suspect. He had seen and heard too much: Milo's scraped 
knuckles. His talk about money troubles. His nervous responses to any questions 
about Lotho and their quarrel. It wasn't proof of guilt, but it was enough to 
worry him. He understood why Peony was so eager for him to stop his 
investigation: she was worried for her husband as well. 

Peony saw his hesitation, and her eyes widened.  "You _do_ think so!"

"Peony-" He reached out to place a hand on her arm, but she drew back from the 
touch. 

"You _do_, Frodo! It's why you've been poking around." Peony leapt up.  "Oh, why 
can't you leave us be? Milo's done nothing wrong." She headed for the door.

"But you think so yourself," said Frodo. 

At these words, she stopped with one hand on the curved frame of the door, but 
didn't turn back to face him.  "I do not! How can you suggest such a thing?"

"Then why did you come here?" he asked, rising from the settee and crossing the 
room after her.  "You're afraid that I'll find out something you don't want me 
to, something that tells against Milo. What is it? Peony, what do you know?"

"I don't _know_ anything!" she insisted, shaking her head vehemently.

"What do you suspect then? What makes you frightened for Milo's sake?" He stood 
beside her now.  "Peony, please believe that I only wish to know the truth. It's 
the only way to find an answer to this mystery. You know how fond I am of both 
of you and Milo.I wouldn't deliberately cause you harm. If Milo has nothing to 
do with Lotho, then you have nothing to fear." 

When he put a hand on her arm this time, Peony did not throw it off. Her head 
was down against her raised arm, her brown curls falling over her face.  "I 
shouldn't have come," she sobbed.  "I wanted to protect him, and I've made 
matters worse." She lifted her head to regard Frodo with tearful eyes.  "If 
Milo's arrested, it'll be your fault!"

With that, she fled the room and left Bag End. Frodo did not try to stop her. 

!~|xv|~!

Merry and Pippin's search for Lad Whitfoot led them around Hobbiton and Bywater, 
but their first efforts were fruitless. Since it was market day, few people were 
at home to talk to them, and the friends of Lad they did speak to had not seen 
him. 

"For all we know," Pippin concluded dispiritedly after they had knocked on the 
doors of a dozen smials and cottages, "Frodo's wrong and Lad isn't here. Perhaps 
he rides all the way to Michel Delving every night, and back again in the 
morning."

"No, he said he was here..." Merry's equally downcast expression suddenly 
brightened as he recalled what Lad had said that first night at the Green 
Dragon.  "He said he was here to look at ponies! What places hereabouts would 
have ponies to sell?

Thereafter, they focused their inquiries on the local farriers and stables. It 
was at the stable where Dora Baggins' household kept their ponies that they 
found an answer: the groomsman proudly showed them a shaggy black-and-white pony 
that had been delivered for Mr. Milo that morning from the Gammidges' farm, 
which lay less than a mile outside Hobbiton.

It was midday by the time they reached the farm, but their search ended there. 
They were just in time, for Farmer Gammidge told them Lad had been staying at 
the farm for the past two weeks, but was leaving that very day. In another hour, 
they would have missed him. The farmer showed them to Lad's room, where he was 
packing his bag.

Lad was surprised to see them.  "Pip, Merry, hello. What are you doing here? 
 
"We've just seen Milo's new pony," said Merry, beginning the conversation on 
comfortable terms; he didn't want to put Lad on his guard too early so that he 
refused to talk to them.  "You've made a good choice, Lad. It looks like a real 
runner."

"Oh, he can run all right!" Lad agreed with enthusiasm, for this was the one 
subject on which he could speak with authority.  "I've seen him take the fields 
here at the farm fast as a rabbit with a pack of hounds at his heels--he'd be 
wasted pulling a farmer's cart. I knew he was just what Milo was looking for. 
Are you looking for a pony, Merry? I didn't know you were interested in the 
races."

"I like to place a wager now and again, same as anybody," Merry answered, "but I 
wasn't thinking of getting a pony to race myself. We were surprised to hear that 
Milo had actually bought one--weren't we, Pip?"

Pippin nodded in agreement, although he wasn't surprised; it was, after all, 
exactly what both Lad and Milo had told them Milo was planning to do. Lad said 
as much himself.

"Yes, but we'd heard the Burrowses were having money troubles," Merry said.  
"Can he afford such an extravagance?"

"We've gone in halves on it," Lad explained.  "Well, more like I've leant Milo 
his half of the money to buy the pony, and he's promised to pay me back from his 
winnings. He didn't have much luck last season, but he's got some high hopes on 
this one. I don't mind lending him. Milo's been my friend for years, and we're 
almost kin. You see, I'm-" the young hobbit blushed and ducked his head.  

"Going to marry Angelica," Merry finished for him. 

"It's all right, Lad. We know all about it," said Pippin.  "We were visiting the 
Old Place yesterday."

"And heard Miss Baggins tell `Gelica she should pick somebody else, I'll be 
bound," Lad said glumly.  "Milo's the only one of `Gelica's family that likes 
me. He passes my messages on to her, and brings hers back to me here... or at 
the Dragon. Now the pony's been paid for and sent to Milo, I don't have an 
excuse to stay around any longer. I'll have to be off home." He gestured at the 
packed bag on the bed.  "Well, as long as you're here, why don't you come have 
lunch with me? Mrs. Gammidge sets a good table. I'm sorry I won't have time to 
stop by the Dragon before I go. You could see me off properly with one last 
ale."

Mrs. Gammidge was out at the market, like every farmer's wife in the Bywater 
area, but she had left lunch in the farmhouse kitchen for her husband and guest: 
bread, cheese, pickles, the leftovers of last night's mutton-and-potato pie, and 
mugs of the best house-brewed beer, which all three young hobbits agreed was at 
least as good as any they could get at the Green Dragon, so Lad was sent off 
respectably.

"The first races at Michel Delving are only a few days away," Lad said over the 
meal. Farmer Gammidge had finished in his lunch and gone outside to smoke, 
leaving the trio alone to discuss their 'gentlefolk's business.' "Milo was 
hoping to go with me to start the season, but it looks like he'll have to stay 
on here awhile. He can't leave his family in the middle of this trouble about 
Lotho."

"You've no idea where he's gone, Lad?" asked Pippin.

"Lotho?" Lad gave the matter some thought as he munched on a piece of cheese, 
then shook his head.

"We thought you might know."

As Lad stared at Pippin, the points of his ears began to turn pink.  "Why? What 
d'you think I have to do with it?"

"We didn't come to talk about ponies, Lad," Merry finally admitted.  "There's 
something else we wanted to ask you about: your fight with Pimple."

Lad sat silent and shrank into his chair. Then, he asked timidly, "Did Milo tell 
you?" 

"No, actually, we have other sources of information," Pippin said with a note of 
mystery.

"I expect a dozen people saw us at the Dragon," said Lad.  "The shirriff even 
asked me about it. I had to answer him, but Milo said I shouldn't go around 
talking to anyone else `til we found out where Lotho was. He said it looked too 
bad for me."

"Was Milo there?" Merry asked him.

"No, he came by afterwards. He was looking for Lotho himself, as a matter of 
fact. I told him what'd happened. I told Angelica a bit too, but not as much. 
She only knows that I quarreled with Lotho over her."

"Did you?" Pippin inquired eagerly.

"Yes, but not the way you think, or the way I let 'Gelica think," Lad admitted. 

"Then what did happen?" Merry pursued. 

"Well..." Lad looked from one to the other.  "Pimple's mother's been pushing him 
to marry Angelica. Did you hear about that?" When the two nodded, he added, "I 
wasn't worried for Angelica--as if she'd look at a shriveled-up little stick 
like Lotho Sackville-Baggins!--but I didn't know how Lotho felt about her. I 
didn't hear about this Miss Daisy `til Milo told you. Anyway, I was there 
Trewsday night, sitting and waiting for Milo, when Lotho came to my table. He 
asked after my father, said he was thinking of running for Mayor himself."

The other two hobbits exchanged looks of surprise. Lotho run for Mayor? 

"He said he thought he could do a better job of running things. I didn't know 
what to make of it," said Lad, "and I wasn't as friendly with him as I might've 
been. Lotho must've guessed why, for he laughed and said, 'Don't fret, Laddie. 
You're quite safe as far as Miss Angelica Baggins is concerned. I don't have any 
designs on _her_'. He said it in such a way that I couldn't take any comfort 
from it. It was nasty-like, as if he thought she wasn't good enough for him. 
'Gelica! The prettiest girl in the Shire!" Lad's round, good-natured face was 
red in indignation on his beloved's behalf.  "So I said to him, meaning to serve 
him out for 'Gelica's sake, 'Well, I'm sure she'll be glad to hear that! What 
would she want with a Pimple like _you_!'"

"And that's when the fight started?" Pippin asked.

Lad nodded.  "You'd've thought I'd slapped him, or thrown my ale in his face, 
instead of calling him a name half of Hobbiton calls him by. He ought to be used 
to it by now. His face went as purple as a beetroot, and I thought he would 
throttle me if he could get his hands `round my neck. He might've too, if some 
of the farm lads from hereabouts hadn't jumped in and pulled him off."
 
!~|*|~!

"Well, that's one question of Frodo's answered," Merry said after he and Pippin 
had seen Lad off from the Gammidges' farm and were walking back into town.  
"There's no reason to suppose it didn't happen just as Lad said it did." 

"No." Then Pippin's eyes brightened mischievously.  "But what if we look at it 
as Sam said we should, and assume Lad's not telling all the truth? The fight in 
the pub happened just as he said--there's a dozen witnesses to that. But what if 
Lad ran into Pimple again afterwards, on that same Trewsday night?"

Merry looked interested.  "You mean, Pimple might've been waiting for him 
outside the Dragon to carry on their fight?"

"Why not? And think of how it would go: Lad was caught by surprise when Pimple 
came at him the first time, but if he was in a position to defend himself, he'd 
only have to give Lotho a good knock on the head to put a stop to him. Or maybe 
when he saw Pimple, he decided to pay him back for insulting Jelly?" 

"Yes, I can see that," Merry agreed.  "In a fair fight, scrawny little Pimple 
would be no match for a strapping young hobbit like our Lad. Lad could've killed 
him with a single well-aimed blow, not even meaning to do harm." 

"And then he got frightened and hid the body?" suggested Pippin.

"And Lotho's been lying under some brambles in a ditch all this time?" Merry 
shook his head.  "No, surely someone would've found him by now." 

"What about in a pond then, under the lily pads? Or in the cellars of the Dragon 
under the empty kegs?"

As they met each other's eyes, both hobbits laughed. It was all nonsense, and 
they knew it. While it was just conceivable that Lad might have struck Lotho 
down by accident, he could never have hidden the body in a panic so successfully 
that no one had found it a week later, and then put on a calm face afterwards. 
Not the Lad Whitfoot they knew. He couldn't hide anything: If he were guilty of 
doing harm, it would show so clearly in his face that all the Shire would see 
it.

"Do you think there's anything in this Pimple business, Merry?" Pippin asked 
once they had stopped laughing.  "Truly? Or are we only poking in where we don't 
belong?"

"I don't know," Merry admitted.  "Frodo seems to think there's something going 
on. Why else would he want us to keep asking questions? We'll go on 
investigating as long as he wants us to." 

As they returned to Hobbiton, they saw that a crowd of people had gathered on 
the village green in front of the post office and the hut that served as a 
sherriff's station, and were babbling excitedly. Merry and Pippin went forward 
quickly to find out what was going on.  

!~|xvi|~!

Sam had finished his errands in the Bywater market; his shopping basket was full 
and he had given orders to various shopkeepers for larger items to be delivered 
to Bag End. He was intending to go home, when he spotted Ted Sandyman coming out 
of the mill. While Sam would prefer not to speak to Ted if he could avoid it, he 
felt obligated to give his questioning of the miller's son a second try, since 
his first attempt had failed so badly. Setting his jaw determinedly, he headed 
toward the mill.

"Well, if it isn't Sherriff Samwise Gamgee!" Ted called out derisively as Sam 
approached.  "Solved your crime yet, have you, Sam? Found out who's done away 
with Lotho?"

"No," Sam retorted.  "You sure you didn't pop him into your grinding-mills, 
Ted?"

Ted laughed.  "Is that what you think I've done?" 

"No," Sam answered. They were only a few feet apart now, and he lowered his 
voice to speak more seriously.  "I don't think he's dead at all. I think he's 
run off. It's like I told you, I'm looking into it on Mr. Frodo's behalf. As 
long Mr. Lotho comes back in the end, I don't care where he was or what he was 
up to. `Til he does, a lot of good folk are under suspicion--and you too, Ted." 
Ted gulped hard at this, and Sam pushed on; if appeals didn't work, then perhaps 
a threat would.  "Now whyn't you do the sensible thing and answer a question or 
two, unless you've got something to hide?" 

Ted's face flushed.  "I'm not hiding anything--you can't say I am! I told 
Sherriff Smallburrows the truth!"

"Then why don't you tell me? It's a bit early for lunch, but the Ivy Bush is 
just across the way." Sam inclined his head in the direction of the inn on the 
far side of the market square.  "My treat," he offered grudgingly. 

The Ivy Bush Inn was busiest on market days, for many hobbits who lived away 
from the center of Bywater stopped to have lunch there rather than interrupt 
their shopping with a long walk home. Since it was a pleasant spring day, tables 
and benches were placed in the stone-paved courtyard between the two curved 
wings of the long, low building. Even though it was early, it was already 
crowded, but Sam and Ted found a table tucked in at the back--as private a seat 
as could be managed in so public a place. Sam ordered pork pies, an apple tart, 
and enough of the inn's ale to loosen Ted's tongue. 

"Now, what was this business you were getting into with Mr. Lotho?" he asked 
after they had settled down.  "Did you cheat him?"

"I wasn't cheating him!" Ted insisted fiercely.  "No one can say I did--not you, 
not him, and not the sherriffs! It was Lotho who came to _me_. He knew how I 
wanted to expand on the mill, make it bigger, put in more grinding-wheels. He 
said he'd help me to do it." Sam looked alarmed at the idea, and Ted grinned.  
"It sounded pretty good to me! You want to know what happened, Sam? I'll tell 
you, and I'll tell you what I didn't tell Sherriff Smallburrows. Lotho 
Sackville-Baggins is the only hobbit hereabouts with the sense to see what sort 
of progress can be made with more machines and a bit of order. He used sit with 
me at the Green Dragon and talk about how the Shire needed putting to rights. 
He'd say how there was a lot of old rot that ought to be cleared away--old 
houses knocked down and new buildings put up, old trees chopped down for lumber, 
and empty fields put to better use. He said the smartest people ought to be at 
the top, running things, instead of some useless fat Mayor at Michel Delving and 
your 'fine' families like the Brandybucks and Tooks, who're no better than the 
rest of us in spite of their fancy names. Oh, don't look so shocked, Sam Gamgee. 
If you weren't so soft, you'd want it that way yourself. You're not so simple as 
you're made out to be. You could have a place at the top if you'd a mind to."

"I'm happy as I am," said Sam, horrified at the things he was hearing.

"You could h