It was late afternoon and the last day of Great Aunt Fresythia's grand birthday celebration was nearly over. And for those concerned with good food and jolly company, who were, of course, the greater portion of the visitors, the week had seemed to pass by far too quickly. But for those few who were more than ready to return to their own comfortable hobbit holes, their own company, and their own cooking, it was none too soon.

Mistress Grubber was one of those who was quite sure it was more than time to leave. She had known it even before that unremarkable cake had flown down the stairs in the wake of a burst of Tookish nonsense. Thank goodness her own family had nothing whatsoever to do with anyone from that family. And as for her daughter Pittybel and her absurd notions, well! She'd soon put a stop to that...

The two ladies in question were even now following the last of their luggage through the large front hall of the Brandybuck residence. Pittybel was savoring the last of an exquisite cheese cup, although the thrill was somewhat marred not only by the fact that she seemed to have misplaced a delectable plum pasty, but they were now leaving and she had yet to spot that dear little Took, the one who was doubtless as fond of her as she was of him. Despite the fact that they had hardly exchanged more than four or five words, it was obvious they were meant to spend the rest of their lives together. Pittybel deposited her empty cup in the convenient umbrella stand and watched as the last hamper was lugged out through the door.

"Mother, surely we needn't go yet! I simply must find Peregrin and see what he thinks of cottage pudding." Pittybel's hair had not improved over the course of the day and her hands, with their surfeit of pink flesh, utterly failed to remedy the situation now. But that was quite alright, for the stray crown of plum pasty drew the eye from the worst of the frizz. "I shall make him my favorite recipe when he comes to visit and I dare say he'll come very often after that!" She giggled. The pasty shifted alarmingly.

"Pittybel, I forbid, do you hear me, forbid you to even so much as think about that, that...wicked Took!" Mistress Grubber pulled smartly at her own snug overdress, faintly popping a seam, before grabbing her daughter's hand and pulling her toward the front door. Their carriage was ready and none too soon, in her opinion. The Brandybuck household had certainly not improved with time; in fact, it had drastically fallen to pieces. "We shall not darken this door again until a considerable amount of time has passed. If your father had been here..."

Pittybel laughed, a gentle snorting rather reminiscent of old Uncle Rory's big sow, the one that accidentally drowned the same year Pittybel was born. "Oh, mother, you know his gout is too bad for him to leave the house. That's why I've packed some goodies away for him and he'll so enjoy the stories and the gossip." She counted the hampers strapped securely to the baggage cart. Yes, all seven were there. "But dear Peregrin doesn't have many friends left now and I can't help but feel sorry for him. He's very sensitive, I can tell." Her simper was absolute perfection. "And I'm such a good cook and he's so thin, poor thing. It's simply disgraceful!"

Mistress Grubber frowned at the carriage, at Pittybel, and at the world in general. They only had to go as far as Bridgefields, but it was all such a chore. "Pittybel, stop wasting your breath and get in the carriage, please. And you seem to have clean forgotten Pelidoc."

It took some concentration and judicious pushing from behind by the helpful Brandy Hall staff, but soon they were both settled in the carriage and the protestations from the heavy springs were slowly dying away. "You must remember that your father expects Pelidoc to ask for your hand any day now and if you continue to go around with that Tookish fol-de-rol upon your lips, he will likely fly off!" Mistress Grubber paused to fan herself. Getting overwrought around Pittybel was nothing new, but it always left her out of breath.

As the ponies pushed mightily into the harness collars and the carriage creaked into motion, Pittybel frowned. Pelidoc, yes... Her father had mentioned him before they left and he was indeed quite handsome, quite large and quite well-to-do. She swayed a little as the carriage made the turn toward the Brandywine Bridge and the plum pasty migrated a little forward. Peregrin or Pelidoc? Hmmm... Well, both names began with a 'P' and they were both wealthy. Except Pelidoc had a very large and luxurious dwelling, didn't he? And he owned a huge portion of Whitfurrow, too, if memory served.

As the carriage began the climb up a moderate grade, Pittybel began to smile. Peregrin could surely survive without her, couldn't he? And if he found it hard going, well, it was now none of her concern. Oh, yes, just think of it, to become Mrs. Pelidoc Puddifoot. Well! She gave a sharp nod of satisfaction and the crown of plum pasty fell right into her hand.

"Oh, mother, look here!" Pittybel's laughter rang like a klaxon before she exclaimed, "I've found that missing pasty!" and then demolished it in two bites.