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."
Site Info
We are the home of 1292 authors from among our 2552 members. There have been 2904 reviews written about our 3820 stories consisting of 10734 chapters and 29400445 words. A special welcome to our newest member, Rosamundeb.Categories
Skin Change
Donate
Help us keep one of the oldest running LotR archives available to all. Even the smallest donation helps!
Many thanks to our previous donors!
Many thanks to our previous donors!
The Library, elsewhere
Other projects
Special Mischief by Kathryn Ramage
Story notes: This story takes place in October of 1423 (S.R.).
The Frodo Investigates! series
