Special Mischief by Kathryn Ramage
Summary: A Frodo Investigates! mystery. Frodo's young, mischief-making cousins are suspected of committing an unusual series of pranks, but are the boys responsible this time?
Categories: FPS, FPS > Frodo/Sam, FPS > Sam/Frodo Characters: None
Type: Mystery
Warning: None
Challenges: None
Series: Frodo Investigates!
Chapters: 7 Completed: Yes Word count: 8774 Read: 17252 Published: March 23, 2008 Updated: March 23, 2008
Story Notes:
This story takes place in October of 1423 (S.R.).

The Frodo Investigates! series

1. Chapter 1 by Kathryn Ramage

2. Chapter 2 by Kathryn Ramage

3. Chapter 3 by Kathryn Ramage

4. Chapter 4 by Kathryn Ramage

5. Chapter 5 by Kathryn Ramage

6. Chapter 6 by Kathryn Ramage

7. Chapter 7 by Kathryn Ramage

Chapter 1 by Kathryn Ramage
Since returning from Long Cleeve after solving the baffling case of who had poisoned Thain Brabantius of the North-Tooks, Frodo had made a great effort to finish his book. He was nearing the end of it now. With Sam's help, he had full notes on what had happened to them in Mordor. His own memories of those days were hazy and horrific; he found he was only able to write about it from Sam's point of view, as if he were seeing his own descent into darkness under the Ring's influence through his friend's eyes. He'd gotten as far as their ascent of Mount Doom before he was laid low, as he always was, on the anniversary of the day he'd been injured at Weathertop.

He spent that day in bed with his shoulder aching and a gloomy feeling of oppression overshadowing his mind, but neither pain nor gloom was so bad as they'd been in previous years. Fortunately, he didn't require the close care that he used to during his darkest days, since Sam's attention was needed elsewhere. Rosie's baby, a boy, had been born on September 12, just over a week before Frodo's own birthday; Sam would've been thrilled if the child had been born on the exact day, but felt this was close enough to be appropriate for Frodo's namesake. Rosie's mother had come to stay at Bag End and help care for the new baby and little Elanor, but Sam was just as busy as his wife and mother-in-law.

Frodo was up again the next day to resume his work in his study. He was trying to write, when there was a knock at the front door and Sam hastened past the study on his way to to answer it. Frodo heard the voice of the local shirriff, Robin Smallburrows, requesting a moment of Sam's time, "on official business, if it an't inconvenient." Sam had been appointed Chief Shirriff for Hobbiton and Bywater over a year ago; he was not often called to duty by the shirriffs who worked under him, but once in awhile something was serious enough for them to come and seek his aid.

Sam invited his friend into the sitting room. Frodo could only hear the murmur of their voices before the baby began crying, then he heard no more.

After awhile, Robin went out and Sam went past the study door again.

"What's the problem, Sam?" Frodo called out to him. "What did Robin want? Is there anything I can help with?"

"No, nothing." Sam took a few steps back to the doorway to speak to him. "There's no reason for you to trouble yourself about it, Frodo, since you weren't well yesterday and you're busy now. It's just those lads again, up to their tricks."

Frodo knew who Sam was referring to. "Sancho and Will?" Sancho Proudfoot and Wilcome Chubb were distant cousins of his, still in the teen years and famous for their pranks. The two boys got into more mischief than even Merry and Pippin had at that age. "What've they done now?"

"They've been tossing pumpkins."

"Tossing pumpkins?" Smashed pumpkins were a common occurrence around Hobbiton at this time of year. It was the sort of prank youngsters all over the Shire played, not just Sancho and Will. But this was something new.

"That's right. They've been flinging 'em over hedgerows into the lanes when people pass by. Them pumpkins make a terrible, mucky mess. They an't hit anybody yet, but who knows what'll happen if one does? It's got to be stopped. Robin took the two lads in hand yesterday and gave 'em a good talking-to. They said it wasn't them."

"As if anybody would believe that," said Frodo, who knew his young cousins well.

"Well, Robin didn't, but he thought they'd stop after that. Then, last night they was at it again! Robin's come to me about it, and I'm going to have a word with the Chubbs and Mr. and Mrs. Proudfoot." The baby resumed its howling. "I was just going to tell Rose I'd be out for a bit."

"Would you like me to go too?"

"I don't see as there's much for you to do, Frodo," Sam answered. "It's just a matter o' getting the lads to admit to their pranks and making 'em behave. I've done it afore--when you were off to Gondor this last time with Master Merry, I was called on more'n once to look into some particular bit o' mischief, and it was always those lads. A good talking-to's what they need. They oughta have it from their own folks, but as they won't, I'll say what I can to 'em. You needn't trouble and leave your work."

"It's no trouble, Sam," Frodo assured him, and set down his quill. With the constant bustle and noise that filled his house lately, he was finding it hard to concentrate on a job that was already difficult. "I'm not very close, but I am a relative of their families. Perhaps if I say a word or two as well, they'll listen. In any case, it's an excuse for me to get out-of-doors for awhile."
Chapter 2 by Kathryn Ramage
On their way to the Chubbs' house, they first stopped in the lane where last night's pumpkin-flinging had occurred. This was in the middle of a long stretch that curved around the northern foot of the Hill between Hobbiton and Overhill, bounded on both sides with hedgerows higher than a hobbit's head. The smashed shells of three small pumpkins were still sitting in the lane. Seeds and pulp spattered for yards.

With his hands braced on his knees, Frodo bent down to look at these orange-hued remains. It looked to him as if most of the seeds and pulp had sprayed away from the crushed shells toward the hillward side of the lane. "They must've been thrown from this side," he observed, straightening up and turning to look over his shoulder at the hedge behind him. "Who was it, Sam?"

Sam looked baffled by the question. "You mean, who done it?"

"No," Frodo clarified. "Who was walking here when these pumpkins were tossed over the hedge?"

"Oh. It was Mr. and Mrs. Muscote, on their way home from a call on the Chubbs."

"And they didn't see who... No." Frodo realized immediately that this was impossible. He stood on tip-toe and bounced up to try and see over the hedge, but it was too tall. There were no gates nor stiles nearby to pass through it into the field beyond. "By the time they went around to the other side, the culprits would be long gone."

"That's right," Sam confirmed, "but they guessed who it was just as easy as we did. Will and Sancho were at the Chubb house when the Muscotes were there, and it'd easy for them to be out in that field, ready and waiting, when the Muscotes came this way."

"Were the other pumpkins flung at this same place?"

"No," Sam answered. "The first time I heard about, it was your cousin Porto when he was on his way up the back lane to the Old Place last week. He didn't go to the shirriffs, but Peony Burrows told Rose about it afterwards, since she and Miss Dora helped him clean the bits of it off his coat. Then it was Mrs. Lobelia-"

"Aunt Lobelia?" Frodo echoed in surprise. "I didn't know she was back in Hobbiton."

"She only came the day before yesterday, and she's staying at the Ivy Bush Inn. Those people she was renting her house to moved out at the end o' September, and she's come back to see about putting the house to rights so's she can rent it out again. She'd just gone to have a look. She was there in the lane that goes past her place and the Proudfoots when a pumpkin was flung at her, and she went straight to the sherriff's hut in Bywater to tell Robin about it."

"The hedges aren't so tall there. Aunt Lobelia didn't happen to see anyone, I suppose?"

"She didn't say so to Robin," Sam answered, "but he says she heard 'em laughing. If she'd seen the lads, she would've come right out with it and not held back. ."

"No..." Frodo agreed. Lobelia's opinion of Sancho Proudfoot was even lower than his own. "Robin didn't go around and have a look at the other side of this hedge, did he, Sam?" he asked with another bounce on his toes.

"Not that I know."

"Then shall we go? We might find some proof over there."

"Proof? Of what?"

"That it was Sancho and Will. Nobody's actually seen them, caught them in the act. If we have something to confront them with, they can't deny they're the ones responsible for these pranks."

They walked down the lane another 50 yards, until the lane met another that led in a meandering way around hillocks and bungalows in the direction of Bywater. The hedge gave way to a lower stone wall, which they easily climbed over to enter a grassy meadow where ponies from the local smials were pastured. The field was currently empty except for a few slender saplings rising from the knee-high grass, and pony droppings that they took care not to step in. Frodo went to what he judged was the spot opposite the place where the pumpkins had landed, but there was little to see. The grass was trampled, but the ground was too dry for footprints. A short piece of rope dangled from the branches of one young tree.

"I wonder what this was for," Frodo said as he gripped the rope and gave it a tentative tug. "To climb up the tree and swing on? No--even the weight of a very small child would bend this tree down. To tie up a pony? It's rather high off the ground for that, and I think any pony who wanted to get away could pull free of that knot--it's sloppily tied."

"It looks like the pony got away in any case," Sam observed. "The rope's broke."

"No, it's been cut with a knife. Look." Frodo held up the loose end of the rope for his friend to see. "Freshly cut, by the look of it." He gave the rope another tug, but found no answer to the puzzle of its purpose. The Chubb smial lay only a short distance away; they could see the front door from where they stood. When Sam began to walk toward it across the field, Frodo let go of the rope and followed.
Chapter 3 by Kathryn Ramage
Ten-year-old Myrtle Burrows, Milo's and Peony's daughter, was playing in the garden with the Chubbs's two little girls, Florinda and Dolinda. As Sam and Frodo came in through the gate, the trio burst into shrieks and giggles and scurried off around to the back of the smial.

"Nel'll be like that in a few years," Sam said. "All giggles. There's naught sillier'n a bunch o' little girls. At least, they aren't so troublesome as little boys."

Frodo went up to knock on the door. Ruby Chubb, Will's mother, answered.

"Wilcome is here, Frodo," she replied once Frodo had explained what he and Sam had come for. "We've kept him indoors today, as punishment. I must tell you, I was astounded when Shirriff Smallburrows told us yesterday what he and Sancho had done. Those boys have really gone too far this time! They might've hurt someone."

"Can we talk with him, please, Mrs. Chubb?" Sam requested.

"Yes, do come in. I'll get him for you. He's been sulking in his room since lunchtime," said Ruby as she stepped back from the open door. "Perhaps you can make him see sense. Whenever his father and I try to tell him how terrible this is, he only says he hasn't done anything! Really, what can be done in the face of such lies? We're in despair of him. Shirriff Gamgee, can't you threaten to throw him into gaol for awhile until he learns to behave?"

Ruby left her guests in the front sitting-room and went to retrieve her son. She returned a minute later, alone, and announced, "He's gone! I'm sure he never passed his bedroom door--he must've climbed out the window. Oh, is there no end to his naughtiness? He will end up locked away in gaol one day, I'm sure of it!"

They went outside, Ruby lamenting over her wayward son's future while Sam listened and clucked his tongue sympathetically. From the trampled flowers and stamp of old footprints in the dirt beneath Will's window, it was obvious to Frodo that the boy regularly used it as an exit and entrance. But there was no sign of Will, nor how long ago he had gone.

"Uncle Frodo?" a softly shy voice spoke behind him and he felt a tug on his coat-tail. Frodo turned to find that the three little girls had drawn closer. Florinda, Ruby's elder daughter, was standing at his heels and looking up at him.

"What is it, Florrie?" he asked.

"We saw Will go out--didn't we?" She looked to the other two girls; Myrtle and Dolinda nodded in agreement.

"Did you see where he went, Miss?" asked Sam.

Florinda nodded. "I know... but Mama says I mustn't tattle-tell."

"This is different, dear," said her mother. "This is tattling in a good cause. You tell Shirriff Gamgee where your brother's gone."

"Sancho came up to his window about an hour ago," the little girl reported with a air of bearing great news, "and Will climbed out."

"They went off that-a-way," Myrtle added, pointing southward in the direction of the Hill and Hobbiton. "They must be going over to Sancho's."

The information was appreciated, but the Proudfoot house was where Frodo and Sam already intended to go next.
Chapter 4 by Kathryn Ramage
At the Proudfoot house, they saw no signs of the boys. Odo Proudfoot, Sancho's grandfather, was likewise out, but Prunella, Sancho's grandmother, welcomed them in and offered them some tea and cakes. No, the boys hadn't been there. She hadn't seen Sancho all afternoon. "I suppose they're in hiding, now that they're in disgrace. If you're looking for them, Mr. Gamgee, there're building a tree-house in the oak grove up the Hill behind Lobelia's house. Imagine, a house in the trees! Did you ever hear of such a thing? If they aren't there, you might try that shed in the Gammidge's cow-pasture. The lads used to hide there to smoke their pipes and eat stolen apples, but I don't think they go to it so much anymore, since Farmer Gammidge chased them off."

"You know what those two lads have been up to, Mrs. Proudfoot?" Sam asked her.

"Yes, Shirriff Smallburrows came and told me about it yesterday," the elderly lady replied as she filled Sam's tea-cup from a freshly made pot. "It sounds a terrible piece of mischief, but Sancho swore to me that he hadn't done it."

"Do you believe him, Aunt Pru?" Frodo asked in surprise.

"Well... no," Prunella admitted. "I have my doubts--I know that boy too well--but when he swears on his honor that he's telling the truth, I have to take him at his word even if I think it's a lie. How else will he learn what's decent? Besides, I can't be too hard on the child, if he aims his pranks at Lobelia. If any hobbit in the Shire begs for a pumpkin to be thrown at her, goodness knows it's Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. I've wanted to do it often enough myself."

"Did you see Lobelia on the day it happened, Aunt Pru?"

"Right before it happened, but not afterwards," answered Prunella. "Lobelia called on me the day before yesterday, just after she'd been over to her house. She was hopping mad. It was those people she rented her home to, the Twillings."

Frodo remembered hearing a little about the Twillings, a young couple from the north who hadn't had any children yet. "They only lived here a few months, didn't they? Why did they leave so soon?"

"Oh, they liked the house well enough, and they were good neighbors to us, but they got tired of having Lobelia as a landlady, even at a distance. She was forever trying to manage them from Hardbottle just the same as if she still lived in the house with them. According to poor Mrs. Twillings, Lobelia sent them so many letters about what they were and weren't meant to do while they were her tenants, they could never make themselves comfortable or feel at home. Once they were going to have a baby, they knew they couldn't abide by her rules any longer. I would've said they were as good tenants as anybody could ask for, but when Lobelia came here, she was angry about all the dilapidations to her precious house, and what she called theft."

"Theft?" Sam repeated, alert at the word.

"Oh, not the sort of theft your shirriffs would take an interest it, Mr. Gamgee. Lobelia allowed the Twillings use of the garden produce for their own table. And why shouldn't she? She could have no use for it all it the way up in Hardbottle, and better it be eaten fresh than left to rot in the earth. But when Lobelia looked in the garden, she found that they'd carried off more than she'd allowed and taken it with them. At least, she thought it must be the Twillings until she had that pumpkin thrown at her!" Prunella didn't sound very distressed, perhaps feeling that there was a sort of justice in it. "That put them out of her mind. She meant to go after the Twillings when she came here, only she doesn't know where they've gone and I certainly didn't intend to tell her."

"Where did they go?" asked Frodo. "Are they still in this neighborhood?"

"They haven't gone very far," answered Prunella. "They liked living in this part of the Shire. When I last heard from Mrs. Twilling, they'd taken a cottage near Frogmorton, and I hope they may be happier there."

After they left the Proudfoot home, Frodo took Sam to the now-empty Sackville-Baggins home, which was just a short walk down the lane. In the back garden was a pumpkin patch, growing weedy since the tenants had gone, but with obvious signs of recent harvesting. There were several small dents in the earth and patches of yellowed, long-flattened grass where pumpkins had lain, and the ends of the thick vines were freshly cut.

"Now we know where our pranksters have been getting their pumpkins," said Frodo. "So many could be so easily stolen only from an untended garden. If Lobelia hadn't come home when she did, no one might ever have noticed. Look, Sam, only the smallest ones were taken," he observed. "Why not the big ones?" A number of large and impressive specimens were sitting untouched.

"The little ones'd be easier to throw so high over the hedges," Sam said after a minute's thought.

"Yes, that's so, and easier to carry off as well. Even a couple of half-grown lads like our Will and Sancho would find it difficult to steal more than one large pumpkin at a time. They must be storing them someplace else, a place well hidden and more convenient for them. I suppose that's where they've gone into hiding now themselves. Aunt Pru said they were building a tree-house nearby." Frodo lifted his gaze to the steep slope of the Hill, rising behind the smial, and looked for a copse of oak trees. There appeared to be several. It would be a climb, especially if they were burdened with armloads of pumpkins, but two young boys determined to make mischief could manage it.

"We won't find 'em tonight," said Sam said; while Frodo had been scanning the hillside, his eyes were on the sky to the west. "It's getting on for dark, and it looks like there'll be rain. I promised Rose I'd be back in time for dinner. We'll have to hunt the lads out and give 'em a scolding tomorrow."

They made their way home toward Bag End arm in arm in the dusk, walking along the lane around the southern foot of the Hill. As they rounded the curve that brought them into Bagshot Row, a pumpkin came flying over the hedgerow that bounded the Party Field to splat in front of them. Another followed before they could recover from their astonishment. From the other side of the hedge came a muffled sound of childish, high-pitched laughter.
Chapter 5 by Kathryn Ramage
A third pumpkin landed in the lane and burst closer to them, spattering seeds and pulp on their feet and trouser legs. Sam put one arm up across Frodo's chest to try and shield him from this onslaught, but Frodo eluded this protective gesture and darted down the lane. "Quickly, Sam--before they get away!" He was already looking for the swiftest way around the hedge.

By the time they found a gap in the hedge and reached the other side, the culprits had gone, just as Frodo had surmised they would. But he saw now how the pumpkins had been flung so high. Like the meadow near the Chubb smial, this end of the Party field had several young and limber saplings growing in it. More scraps of cut rope dangled from the slender trunks.

"Do you see, Sam? That's what the rope is for. They made the trees into catapults!" Frodo took hold of a rope to demonstrate: by pulling the top of the sapling down toward the earth, tying it off, and balancing the pumpkin within a fork in the strongest branches, the trap was set. The pranksters had only to wait for the sounds of someone coming down the lane--or perhaps one of them had kept watch?--then the ropes would be cut. Three pumpkins had been launched successfully this way.

A fourth pumpkin had also been launched, but hadn't cleared the hedge and fallen short in the grass; in its smashed remains, Frodo found a piece of luck.

"Sam, are you so sure it was Will and Sancho who did this?" he asked his friend.

"'Course," Sam replied hesitantly. "Aren't you anymore? Who else could it be?"

"I'm beginning to believe it must be someone else. Come and see." Frodo pointed to draw Sam's attention to his discovery: In their hasty flight, one of the pranksters had accidentally trodden on the broken pumpkin and left a footprint--a footprint much too small for a half-grown lad like Will or Sancho.




They arrived home under a darkening sky. The rain Sam had foreseen began to fall as they entered Bag End's garden, and they hastened up the steps to the front door to avoid being soaked in the sudden downpour.

Rosie had put the babies to bed and was just setting the kitchen table for dinner. Her mother, she said, had gone back to the Cotton farm; one of her brothers had been injured. "It was Nibs," she informed Sam, who was naturally concerned at the news. "He fell off a hayrick and landed wrong on his ankle. They don't think it's broke, but he'll have to keep off it for a week or so, and Mum had to go home to see to him. If it's not so bad, she'll come back tomorrow. She'd have to stop the night at the farm in any case. She wouldn't try to walk all the way back here tonight, not unless this rain lets up." Rosie turned to look at the rain washing over the small panes of the kitchen window. "The way it's coming down, it looks like it'll go on all night."

While Sam helped his wife with the dinner, Frodo went to his room to wash the spatters of pulp off his feet and calves, and to change into a clean pain of trousers. He joined the Gamgees at the kitchen table. Since Mrs. Cotton had come to stay, he'd been dining alone, usually taking a tray in his study or the parlor, and felt very lonely.

Mrs. Cotton was a great help with the new baby, but Frodo would be happier when she went home for good. Even though he tried to go out of his way to make her feel welcome at Bag End, he was never comfortable with her. Her presence in the household constrained him. Mrs. Cotton was too much aware of his position as a gentlehobbit. She would've been shocked to see him eating his dinner in the kitchen. It wouldn't seem right to her that a bachelor with people to look after him would ever enter his own kitchen at all. She was also rather shy of him, always aware that he was the master of this house and that her daughter and grandchildren were living here at his sufferance. She was anxious that they give him as little trouble as possible, and did her best to keep the children out of his way, lest they disturb him. Sam and Rosie likewise made an effort to ensure that he wasn't troubled by little Frodo's crying, but before the baby's birth, Frodo had sometimes looked after Elanor; he liked to read the little girl stories of the Elves that Bilbo had translated, and was planning to teach her to read when she was older--he expected to be around long enough for that. Mrs. Cotton had taken charge of Elanor now.

Over dinner, Sam told Rosie about the mischief with the pumpkins. "Only, Frodo doesn't think it was those lads."

"If it was Will and Sancho, I'm certain they didn't act alone," Frodo explained. "You saw that footprint, Sam. It was far too small to be either Will's or Sancho's. It belongs to a much younger child."

"Who?" asked Rose.

"I've been thinking about it. Mosco Burrows used to run around with those two. You remember when the three of them stole half the umbrellas in Hobbiton for old Pum Pettigrow? It was Mosco who confessed--he isn't as confirmed a liar as his older cousins, and he still has something of a conscience. And Milo and Peony aren't so indulgent of mischief-making as Auntie Pru and the Chubbs. I think I'll go and call on the Old Place tomorrow and have a chat with him."

The rain was still coming down hard when dinner ended, and as Rosie cleared the table, she repeated with more surety that her mother wouldn't be back tonight. While Sam washed up the dishes, Rosie took a peek into the nursery at the sleeping children, then went to bed herself. The Gamgees usually went to bed early, to get a few hours of sleep before little Frodo woke them up. Grown-up Frodo said good-night and went into his study to read over what he'd written earlier in the day, and smoke his pipe before he too retired for the night.

When he went to his room, he found Sam there waiting for him, sitting at the foot of the bed in his dressing gown and nightshirt while he warmed his toes at the fire.

Frodo smiled. "Did Rosie send you?"

"She's fast asleep, and I didn't want to wake her by getting in next to her," Sam replied. "'Sides, I thought I'd rather come sleep with you. I haven't been coming to you regular-like since Mother Cotton came to stay. But she's not here tonight."

"No, she isn't," Frodo agreed, still smiling. Since Mrs. Cotton had come to Bag End, Sam had been sleeping nightly in Rose's bed for appearances' sake, and Frodo had missed him terribly even though they saw each other every day. It was difficult for them to live together as if they were no more than friends in a house with someone who was unaware of their private arrangement.

"Well, I was thinking as this'd be a good time to catch up," Sam continued to explain. "That is, if you're feeling up for it."

"Of course I am."

"You were abed just yesterday," Sam reminded him.

Frodo brushed Sam's concern aside. "Yes, but my bad spell has passed off. It wasn't so awful as it used to be, when I was bedridden for days afterwards. I'm fine, Sam. Truly, fine. I'm up for anything you'd like." To show Sam how 'up for it' he was, he fairly leapt into Sam's arms. It was the sort of pounce that would've once taken Sam by surprise, but Sam was used to Frodo's pounces by now and was ready this time; when Frodo landed in his lap, he caught him by the arms and turned to lay him out across the foot of the bed. Frodo laughed out loud and pulled Sam down on top of himself.

They were in the middle of an enthusiastic kiss when, from the far end of the winding corridor, came the now-familiar and unmistakable wail of the baby. At the sound, Sam pushed himself up off of Frodo, and sat up with a resigned huff.

"Can't Rosie take care of it?" Frodo asked him.

"I told her I'd see to the baby tonight, 'less he needs a feeding," Sam replied as he climbed off the bed. "It's only fair. She's had the care of the litte uns all afternoon while you and me was out." He went to the door. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"I'll be waiting right here for you," Frodo promised as Sam went out.

By the time Sam returned, Frodo had put the firescreen before the fire and changed into a nightshift, one he'd chosen with great care. Nightshifts were essentially a shapeless and sexless type of garment, but Frodo had picked out one that had some lace trim around the collar. He was searching through his chest of drawers. "My little namesake's gone back to sleep?"

"He woke Rosie up after all, and she's taken him," Sam reported. "He's quieted down now he's with her, and she'll put 'm back in his cradle once he's asleep."

"And she doesn't mind your spending tonight with me?"

"No. Why should she? When Rosie wants me back, she's only to ask."

"You told me once, before the baby was born, that you and Rose haven't been... ah-" Frodo ventured, not liking to ask such a personal question.

But Sam answered bluntly, "No, and not since then either. Caring for two little uns at once is tiring enough--we aren't ready for a third yet!"

"I thought you couldn't get another baby as long as you were nursing the first." Frodo knew very little about these matters, but he'd heard enough conversations between mothers and mothers-to-be to gather some basic information.

"So did me 'n' Rose, but that's not how it worked out for us. It was when she couldn't nurse Nel anymore that we knew little Frodo was on the way." Sam sat down on the bed. "I'm sorry, Frodo. You must be thinking how nice 'n' quiet Bag End used to be afore Rosie 'n' me started having babies all over it. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to go back to that cottage in Buckland to finish your book in peace and quiet. I noticed as how you aren't writing much since the baby came."

"Nonsense, Sam." Frodo understood what Sam was really worried about. "That has little to do with the baby. I've reached the most difficult part of the story to write about, that's all. I couldn't finish it without your help. Besides, Pippin's living in the cottage at Crickhollow now." He turned back to the chest to continue his search in the uppermost drawers. "I don't mind the children, Sam. I adore Elanor--you know I do--and I'll love little Frodo just as much once we become better acquainted. After all, Uncle Bilbo's parents dug out this smial intending to fill it with children, even if there hasn't been one here since he was born. It's too big a home for lonely bachelors. It needs a family. If Bag End could feel, I'm sure it'd be pleased to be serving its true purpose at last."

Sam was reassured. Only now, he began to take notice of what Frodo was doing. "What're you looking for?"

"When I was in Bywater a week or two ago, I stopped at Mrs. Twistletwig's sundries shop and made a purchase. There were a few things we'd talked about--remember? Ideas I wanted to try."

Sam remembered, and turned pink at the ears. Since they'd returned from their journey to Long Cleeve, he and Frodo had discussed some of their more exotic and unusual thoughts they'd been having about what they'd like to do with each other, but with Mrs. Cotton and the new baby in the house, they hadn't been able to try any of them out.

"We haven't had time to make special plans for tonight, but now we have an opportunity... Ah, here it is!" Frodo found what he was looking for, and turned to show Sam what he'd bought: a strip of pink ribbon about two feet long. "It was the only thing I could buy without causing comment. Mrs. Twistletwig probably thought I meant it for Rose or Elanor, or perhaps that I was finally sweet on some girl."

Sam regarded the ribbon with astonishment, as if he'd never seen such a thing before. "Wh- what're you going to do with that?"

In reply, Frodo laughed and bounced onto the bed beside him. "I'll show you." He reached out with one hand to wind the ribbon loosely, playfully around the crown of Sam's head, then trailed it down his face, tickling the tip of his nose and his lips.

Sam squirmed at the light, teasing touch, but didn't pull away. At Frodo's gentle urging, he lay back on the bed, head on the pillows, and let Frodo undo the front of his nightshirt; the ribbon, still clutched in Frodo's hand, followed his movements, writhing and jumping with each twist of the wrist down Sam's chest like a long, pink snake as Frodo opened the buttons. Then Frodo took one of Sam's hands and placed his own free hand against it, palm to palm, and wove the ribbon between their outspread fingers, binding them together. Sam watched these games with quickening breath. As always when Frodo led him beyond the plain lovemaking he was used to, he felt torn between an undeniable thrill of anticipation and a certain amount of trepidation at whatever Frodo might have in mind. He had no idea what Frodo intended to do next.

It wasn't until Frodo coiled the ribbon around Sam's arm and tightened it that he began to be nervous.

When Frodo saw the look his face, he abruptly released the loop. "I don't want to frighten you," he assured Sam. "It's meant to be fun, my dear. I promise, we won't do anything you aren't ready for. Let's start slowly." Sitting upright, he wound the ribbon around his own brow, pulling his hair away from his face. He tried to tie a bow on top of his head, but his fingers were unfamiliar with the exercise and moved clumsily.

"Here," Sam offered, "duck your head down. I'll tie it for you." He was accustomed to tying his daughter's hair-ribbons for her and, in an instant, made an expert bow.

"How does it look?" Frodo asked.

Sam considered the effect judiciously. "Pretty enough," he said after a moment, "but you oughta've got a blue one. That's your color, Frodo. It'd suit you better'n this pink."

"There weren't any blue ones in the shop," Frodo answered, and leaned down again to kiss him. "Next time I'm in Bywater, I'll see if I can find one. Or perhaps I might buy something else."
Chapter 6 by Kathryn Ramage
The next morning, while Sam went to find Robin Smallburrows and report what he and Frodo had discovered, Frodo walked over to the Old Baggins Place to call on his cousins. Milo and Peony Burrows were both at home, and Frodo thought it best to consult them before he questioned their eldest son.

"I hope you're wrong, Frodo," Peony said once she'd heard the reasons for Frodo's suspicions. "Mosco's been so well-behaved lately. I'd hate to think he's taken up with those two again. And to do such a thing! You weren't here to see poor Ponto the day he came, covered with that awful orange muck. Aunt Dora still talks about it. Since she's heard that there've been others, she's afraid to go out of the house."

"If he does have a part in it, he'll be in for a paddling," Milo promised ominously. "He knows we don't approve of him running about with Sancho and Will, but when has a parent's disapproval ever stopped a mischievous lad from doing as he pleased?" He went to the sitting-room window and shouted out: "Mosco! Mosco-lad! Come in here, right away."

The boy had been playing atop the smial with his brother Moro, but came inside at his father's summons. "What is it, Poppa? Oh, hullo, Uncle Frodo." Mosco grew suddenly shy. "Did you want to see me?"

"I came to ask you about something very serious, Mosco," Frodo answered him. "You must've heard that some mischief-makers have been flinging pumpkins at people over the hedgerows. Everyone seems certain it's Sancho Proudfoot and Will Chubb, but I've found something that makes me think there's another boy involved, a younger lad-"

"It wasn't me, Uncle Frodo! I didn't have nothing to do with it. I wouldn't--I promised Father I wouldn't go about with Sancho and Will and get into trouble." Mosco turned with pleading eyes to his father. "He said if I did, then he wouldn't let me ride Fleetfoot in the races anymore."

"That's right," Milo confirmed. "We made a bargain."

"And I've kept to it, Father, honestly!" the boy insisted. "The races are more fun than anything Will and Sancho ever got up to."

If Mosco's earnestness wasn't enough to convince Frodo of his innocence, then there was another, more solid fact to seal it: the boy's feet were too large to fit the footprint Frodo had found last night.

After Frodo had thanked the Burrowses and was on his way out of the house, he considered this puzzle. It couldn't be Mosco. What about Moro? He was only twelve. The younger boy was sitting above the front door, waiting for his brother. His feet were dangling over the facade; a single glance upwards told Frodo that Moro's feet were also too large. The child involved in the pumpkin flinging must be very young and small indeed. As small as little Minto? Or Myrtle?

Frodo stopped at the gate to the Old Place as he remembered the three little girls scurrying away when he and Sam had visited the Chubbs yesterday. He thought of the way they had shrieked and giggled. That high-pitched laugh...

He turned and went back toward the house; Milo and Mosco were just coming out and looked confused, even when he explained, "I have to talk to Peony."

Peony, who still in the sitting-room, was surprised to see him again so soon. Frodo's first question puzzled her even more. "Peony? Your daughter Myrtle usually plays with the Chubb girls, doesn't she?"

"Florrie and Dolly? Yes, of course--you know that, Frodo. They're her best friends."

"Do you know where they play? They don't always stay here or at the Chubbs' home?"

"Goodness no. They run all over the fields between here and Hobbiton."

"Do they stay out after dark?"

"All the children know they must be home in time for dinner," said Peony, not seeing the point to all these questions but willing to answer. "She and Minto aren't old enough to be out and about after dark, but the sun sets so early at this time of year."

"Has Myrtle never been late? What about last night?"

"She was a little late, but not so that we worried. She and her brothers were all in the house before the rain began."

"Were her feet wet? Before the rain."

Peony laughed. "What an odd thing to ask, Frodo! But, yes. She left wet footprints in the front hall. She said she'd been wading in the creek. What-?"

"I have another odd question, Peony. Is Myrtle especially clever with mechanical things? Or are either of the Chubb girls? I can ask Ruby that as well, if you don't know."

"My Myrtle is clever at needlework and weaving. Aunt Dora's been teaching her. She made me a lovely willow-bark basket for her last birthday. Dolly and Florinda- I don't know. Frodo, what is this all about?" Peony looked even more perplexed, then she understood why he was asking such strange questions about her daughter. "Oh, Frodo, no! You must be joking. They couldn't- They're little girls!"

Frodo began to explain his thoughts, when he and Peony heard the front gate creak open, followed by a familiar voice asking for him and Milo's reply, "Yes, Frodo's inside, Sam, and being as peculiar as he always is. Go right in."

A moment later, Sam appeared in the sitting-room doorway and Frodo rose to meet him.

"I know who it is, Sam! Peony doesn't believe me, but I know I'm right. That laugh we heard last night--It was a girl, not a boy. It was Myrtle's footprint we saw. She had to wash the pumpkin-muck off her feet before she came home."

"Little Myrtle?" Sam said, as amazed as Peony.

"Yes, she, and Florrie and Dolly Chubb are the mischief-makers we've been looking for. We have to find them." Frodo turned back to Peony. "Do you know where they are today?"

"Myrtle went over to the Chubbs' just after breakfast," Peony answered. "Frodo, are you quite certain of this? Myrtle's never been in any trouble before, but if the Chubb girls have picked up some mischief from their brother and taught it to her-" She made a fluttering motion with her hands. "Well, if you find her, bring her back here to us. She's too young to be in the hands of the law, and if what you say is true, it's better that Milo and I deal with her misbehavior."
Chapter 7 by Kathryn Ramage
"The thing to consider is where will they strike next?" Frodo said to Sam as they left the Old Place.

"How're we going to find that out?" asked Sam.

"Now that we've seen how they launch the pumpkins, we know we must look for places that suit their need. They must have a high hedge alongside a lane, with a field on the other side that has with young saplings in it, close enough to the hedge to clear it. It can't be too near anybody's home, or they'd be observed at their tricks, but at the same time it can't too far off. They're too young to stray very far from their homes. It must therefore be somewhere around the Hill, not farther than Overhill to the north or Bywater to the east. I don't believe they'd go south across the Water. They might return to one of the places they've used already, but where else might they go? Think, Sam. You know this part of the Shire, root and
branch, better than anyone except perhaps the Gaffer."

They stopped in the lane while Sam gave the question some thought. "Here." He picked up a stick and drew a simple map in the dirt. "Say this circle's the Hill.

Overhill's up here and Hobbiton's southward. Bywater's over here. This-" he drew a curving line, "is the lane we're in, and this-" another line, perpendicular to the last, "is the lane that goes past the Chubb house."

Frodo crouched down. "Then the meadow is here," he tapped a spot near the juncture of the two lines. The place where Ponto was struck is around here..."

"There's a good stretch of fields up that way, north of the Old Place," said Sam.

"We ought to go have a look at them. What about the south side of the Hill? That's where Aunt Lobelia was struck, and we were struck last night, just entering Bagshot Row." Frodo tapped these spots on Sam's impromptu map. "What else is over there?"

"The Gammidges keep a pasture near the end o' the lane where Mr. and Mrs. Proudfoot live," said Sam. "If the girls want to lay one o' their traps there, they'd have a good wait afore somebody came along. Not a lot of folk go along that way, unless they're going to the farm. The lane don't go anywhere else, but comes out at the Great Road after a bit."

Frodo's eyes brightened. "Sam, that's it! Oh, not where I think they're going to set up their next pumpkin-toss, but where they've hidden their store of pumpkins. They couldn't have carried them too far from Lobelia's garden. Didn't Aunt Pru say that there was a cowshed in the Gammidges' pasture, where Will and Sancho used to go and hide out? I wonder if the girls know about it?"




As they approached the Gammidges' pasture, they could see that Frodo's guess was correct. The girls were preparing to spring another trap here, or were at least doing a little target practice: a pair of saplings near the edge of the pasture had been bent over with their tops nearly touching the ground, and tied off with ropes. The rotted shells of one or two old pumpkins lay in the lane, pushed under some bushes. The girls were not in sight, but a wooden shed stood a hundred yards or so away. The door was open.

Frodo held a finger up to his lips, and they crept as quietly as they could toward the shed. There was no high hedge along the lane, only a stone wall, and they kept low. As they drew nearer the shed, they could hear childish voices and giggles from inside.

When they reached a gate, Sam pulled it open. The rusted hinges creaked, and the voices fell silent. There was an urgent shush, and Dolly Chubb peeked out. In her arms, she held a pumpkin; at the sight of Sam at the gate, she yelped shrilly and dropped it with a splat. The other two girls emerged from within the shed, and there were more yelps of alarm. Shrieking, the trio scattered and fled across the field.

"There's no use running, girls!" Frodo called after them. "I've already spoken to your mother, Myrtle. I'll speak to yours too, Florrie, Dolly. They'll know all about it!"

The Chubb girls didn't stop--perhaps were too far away to hear--but Myrtle paused in scrambling over the stone wall and turned to look back to him. "You told Mama?"

"That's right," said Frodo. "I've just been to your house. I thought it was your brother, Mosco, but then I realized his feet were too big."

The little girl looked puzzled, and for a moment looked very like Peony. "His feet...?"

"You stepped in a pumpkin last night, Myrtle, didn't you? That's how I knew it was you and your friends."

Myrtle climbed down off the wall and took a tentative step toward him. "Did you tell Papa too?"

"No, but your mother's sure to have told him by now."

"They're going to be angry. I'm sure to get a spanking."

"It wouldn't surprise me, my dear child," Frodo replied, and crouched down to place himself at eye level with the little girl as she came nearer. "You've been very naughty, you know. You might've hurt somebody. You almost hit me and Mr. Gamgee last night."

"I'm sorry, Uncle Frodo."

"You'd better apologize to Mr. Gamgee too."

Sam stood with arms folded, scowling at her sternly; Myrtle found Frodo less intimidating, and sidled close to him as she mumbled, "‘M sorry."

"Now how did you girls come up with such an idea?" Frodo asked her.

"It was Will," said Myrtle.

The two older hobbits exchanged a glance. "I knew those two was at the back of it," Sam said, and asked Myrtle, "Did he 'n' Sancho put you up to this?"

"No. Will only showed us how to do it." Myrtle began to speak quickly. "It was last autumn. Will and Sancho stole so many pumpkins they didn't know what to do with 'em all. So after they smashed some, they fixed up one of the trees in the field by Florrie and Dolly's house to make the rest go flying."

"Over the hedge?" asked Frodo.

"No, the other way. It made the ponies go running off." She laughed. "They let us watch. Sancho said it'd be great fun if they sent one the other way, into the lane, but they'd finished all the pumpkins up and didn't have anymore. So that was that."

"Until this autumn, when there were new pumpkins growing, and you and Florrie and Dolly decided it would be fun to try it out for yourselves?" said Frodo.

Myrtle nodded. "Florrie said she could tie up the trees as good as Will could, so we took some rope from the stables and took the pumpkins from Old Aunt Lobelia's place. Nobody'd notice. We took a bunch, as big as we could carry, and put them in the shed over there." She waved a hand in the direction of it. "And we played here, 'til we could make 'em go over the wall. It was awfully fun!"

"And then you thought it'd be even more fun to aim them at people?" Frodo prompted.

Myrtle nodded again, and had the grace to look shamefaced about it. "It sounded like a good joke, but nobody ever comes along this way. All we could scare was the cows, and after awhile they stayed away this end of the pasture. So we carried some pumpkins, one each, over to the field by my house, where there are more little trees, and waited 'til somebody came walking by. It was Uncle Ponto-" In spite of the trouble she was in, she laughed. "Oh, you should've seen him jump when the first one landed by him!" But, finding that the grown-ups were not amused, she quickly lost her smile. "We didn't try to hit anybody, Uncle Frodo. Honestly! Not even Old Lobelia. We only wanted to frighten 'em, like the cows and ponies."

"Tell your mother and father that, and maybe they won't be so hard on you. Are you ready to go home and face them, Myrtle? Then come along. Be brave" Frodo held out a hand. The little girl took it and, hand in hand, they walked back to the Old Place, where Myrtle's parents were waiting to deliver a scolding.

After they'd left the Burrows family, Sam and Frodo headed for the Chubb smial to tell Ruby and Wilgo what their daughters had been up to.

"They won't like to acknowledge it's true," said Frodo, "but since the girls have been caught out and Myrtle's confessed, they can't deny it."

"Even so, they won't come down so bad on those girls as Milo 'n' Peony will on Myrtle," said Sam. "If you ask me, they deserve it more. It seems more it was their idea, and that brother of theirs."

Frodo had to agree. "But Milo and Peony will be fair, and after Myrtle's taken her punishment, she isn't likely to go astray again. The Chubbs, on the other hand, I feel sure will find themselves with worse mischief-makers on their hands after Will's grown out of it. I've been thinking, Sam. I'll wager that even if Will didn't play a part in this mischief, he guessed what was up when Robin spoke to him about it the day before yesterday. He knew he hadn't done it, and could honestly say so for a change, but he must've remembered what he'd shown his little sisters to do last year. He couldn't say so, and couldn't say anything else unless he was willing to take the blame on himself. I'm sure that's why he and Sancho went into hiding." In the lane that led to the Chubbs' house, he turned to Sam. "I'm surprised you didn't talk more to Myrtle, Sam. You're a father. You know how to talk to children."

"You did fine," Sam told him. A look of horror appeared on his face. "What if my Nel really is like that in a few years?"

Frodo smiled. "Then this will be good practice."
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