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.
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