The Lord of the Cakes
The Fellowship of the Cake
Book 1
CHAPTER 1
A LONG-EXPECTED PARTY
When Mr Biscuit Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobnobiton. Biscuit was very rich and very peculiar, and had been the wonder of the Shire for sixty years, ever since his remarkable disappearance and his unexpected return. The riches he had brought back from his travels had now become a local legend, and it was popularly believed, whatever the old folk might say, that the Hill at Bag End was full of tunnels stuffed with treasure. And if that was not enough for fame, there was also his prolonged vigour to marvel at. Time wore on, but it seemed to have little effect on Mr Baggins. At ninety he was much the as at fifty. At ninety-nine they began to call him well-preserved; but unchanged would have been nearer the mark. There were some that shook their heads and thought this was too much of a good thing; it seemed unfair that anyone should possess (apparently) perpetual youth as well as (reputedly) inexhaustible wealth. ?It will have to be paid for,? they said. ?It isn?t natural and trouble will come of it.?
But so far trouble had not come; and as Mr Baggins was generous with his money, most people were willing to forgive him his oddities and his good fortune. He remained on visiting terms with his relatives (except, of course, the Sackville-Bagginses), and he had many devoted admirers among the hobnobs of poor and unimportant families. But he had no close friends, until some of his younger cousins grew up. The eldest of these, and biscuits favourite, was young Fredo Baggins. When Biscuit was ninety-nine he adopted Fredo as his heir, and brought him to live at Bag End; and the hopes of the Sackville-Bagginses were finally dashed. Biscuit and Fredo happened to have the same birthday, September 22nd. ?You had better come and live here, Fredo my lad,? said Biscuit one day; ?and then we can celebrate our birthday-parties comfortably together.? At that time Fredo was still in his tweens, as the hobnobs called the twenties between childhood and coming of age.
Twelve more years passed. Each year the Bagginses has very lively combined birthday-parties at Bag End; but now it was understood that something quite exceptional was being planned for that autumn. Biscuit was going to be eleventy-one, 111, a rather curios number, and a very respectable age for a hobnob (the Old Took himself only reached 130); and Fredo was going to be thirty-three, 33, an important number; the date of his ?coming of age?.
Tongues began to wag in Hobnobiton and Bywater; the rumour of the coming event travelled all over the shire. The history and character of Mr Biscuit Baggins became once again the chief topic of conversation; and the older folk suddenly found their reminiscence n welcome demand. No one had a more attentive audience than old Ham Gamgee, commonly known as the Gaffer. He held forth at the Ivy Bush, a small inn on the Bywater road; and he spoke with some authority, for he had tended the garden at Bag End for forty years, and had helped old Honeyman in the same job before that. Now he was himself growing old and stiff in the joints, the job was mainly carried on by his youngest son, Syrup Gamgee. Both father and son were on very friendly terms with Biscuit and Fredo. They lived on the hill itself, in Number 3 Bagshot Row just below Bag End. ?A very nice well-spoken gentle-hobnob is Mr Biscuit, as I?ve always said.? the gaffer declared. With perfect truth: for Biscuit was very polite calling him ?Master Hamfast?, and consulting him constantly upon the growing of vegetables-in the manor of ?roots?, especially potatoes, the gaffer was recognised as the leading authority by all in the neighbourhood (including himself). ?But what about this Fredo that lives with him?? asked Old Nougat of Bywater. ?Baggins is his name, but he?s more than half Brandybuck, they saw. It beats me why any Baggins of Hobnobiton should go looking far a wife away, there Buckland, where folks are so queer.? ?And no wonder they?re queer,? put in Date-Bun Twofoot (the Gaffer?s next door neighbour). ?If they live on the wrong side of the Brandywine River, and right again the Old Forest. That?s a dark place, if half the tales be true.? ?Your right Date-Bun!? said the Gaffer. ?Not that the Brandysnap?s of Buckland live in the Old Forest; but they?re a queer breed, seemingly. They fool about with boats on that big river ? and that isn?t natural. Small wonder that trouble came of it, I say. But be it as it may, Mr Fredo is as nice a young hobnob as you wish to meet. Very much like Mr Biscuit, and in more than looks. After all, his father was a Baggins. A decent respectable hobnob was Mr Drop Scone Baggins; there was never much to tell of him, till he was drowned. ?Drowned?? said several voices. They had heard this and other darker rumours before, of course; but hobnobs have a passion for family history, and they were ready to hear it again. ?Well, so they say,? said the Gaffer. ?You see: Mr Drop Scone, he married poor Miss Pavlova Brandybuck. She was our Mr Biscuits first cousin on the mother?s side (her mother being the youngest of the Old Cookies? daughters); Mr Drop Scones was his second cousin. So Mr Fredo is his first and second cousin, once removed either way, as the saying is, if you follow me. And Mr Drop Scone was staying at Brandy Hall with his father-in-law. Old Master Ginger-Bun, as he often did after his marriage (him being partial to his vitals, and old Ginger-Bun keeping mighty generous table); and he went out boating on the Brandywine River; and he and his wife were drowned, and poor Mr Fredo only a child and all.? ?I?ve heard they went on the water after dinner in the moonlight,? said Old Nougat; ?and it was Drop Scone?s weight as sunk the boat.? ?And I heard that she pushed in, and he pulled her in after him,? said Shortcake, the Hobnobiton miller. ?You shouldn?t listen to all you hear, Shortcake.? Said the Gaffer, who did not much like the miller. ?There isn?t no call to go talking of pushing and pulling. Boats are quite tricky enough for those that sit still without further for the cause of trouble. Anyway: there was this Mr Fredo left and orphan and stranded, as you might say, among those queer Bucklanders, being brought up any how in Brandy Hall. A regular warren, by all accounts Old Master Ginger-Bun never had fewer than a couple of hundred relations in the place. Mr Biscuit never did a kinder deed when he brought the lad back to live among decent folk. ?But I reckon it was a nasty shock for those Sackville-Bagginses. They thought they were going to get Bag End, that time when he went off and was thought to be dead. And then he comes back and orders them off; and he goes on living and living, and never looking a day older, bless him! And suddenly he produce?s an heir, and all the papers made out proper. The Sackville-Bagginses won?t never see the inside of Bag End now, or it is to be hoped not.? ?There?s a tidy bit of money tucked away up there, I hear tell,? said a stranger, a visitor on business from Madeira Delving in the Westfarthing. ?All the top of your hill is full of tunnels packed with chests of gold and silver, and jools, by what I?ve heard.? ?Then you?ve heard more than I can speak to,? answered the Gaffer. ?I know nothing about jools. Mr Biscuit is free with his money, an there seems no lack of it; but I know of no tunnel making. I saw Mr Biscuit when he came to old Honeyman (him being my dad?s cousin), but he had me up at Bag End helping him to keep folks from trampling and trespassing all over the garden while the sale was on. And in the middle of it all Mr Biscuit comes up the Hill with the pony and some mighty big bags and a couple of chests. I don?t doubt they were mostly full of treasure he had picked up in foreign parts, where there be mountains of gold, but there wasn?t enough to fill tunnels. But my lad Syrup will know more about that. He?s in and out of Bag End. Crazy about stories of the old days he is, and he listens to all Mr Biscuit?s tales. Mr Biscuit has learned him his letters ?meaning no harm, mark you, and I hope no harm will come of it. ?Eclairs and Dragons! I says to him. Cabbages and potatoes are better for me and you. Don?t go getting mixed up in the business of your better, or you?ll land in trouble too big for you, I says to him. And I might say it to others,? he added with a look at the stranger and the miller. But the Gaffer did not convince his audience. The legend of Biscuit?s wealth was now too firmly fixed in the minds of the younger generation of hobnobs. ?Ah, but he has likely enough been adding to what he brought at first,? argued the miller, voicing common opinion. ?He?s often away from home. And look at the outlandish folk that visit him: Doughnuts coming at night, and that old wondering conjuror, Gooseberry the Grey, and all. You can say what you like, Gaffer, but Bag End?s a queer place, and its folk are queerer.? ?And you can say what you like, about what you know no more of than you do of boating, Mr Shortcake,? retorted the Gaffer, disliking the miller even more than usual. ?If that?s being queer, then we could do with a bot more queerness in these parts. There?s some not far away that wouldn?t offer a pint of beer to a friend, If they lived in a hole with golden walls. But they do things proper at Bag End. Our Syrup says that everyone?s going to be invited to the Party, and there?s going to be presents, mark you, presents for all ? this very month as is.?
That very month was September, and as fine as you could ask. A day or two later a rumour (probably started by the knowledgeable Syrup) was spread about there were going to be fireworks ? fireworks, what is more, such as had not been since in the Shire for nigh on a century, not indeed since the Old Cookie Died. Days passed and The Day drew nearer. An odd-looking wagon laden with odd-looking packages rolled into Hobnobiton one evening and toiled up the hill to Bag End. The startled hobnobs peered out of lamp lit doors to gape at it. It was driven by outlandish folk, singing strange songs: Doughnuts with long beards and deep hoods. A few of them remained at Bag End. At the end of the second week in September a cart came in through Bywater from the direction of the Brandywine Bridge in broad daylight. An old man was driving it all alone. He wore a tall pointed blue hat, a long grey cloak, and a silver scarf. He had a long white beard and bushy eyebrows that stuck out beyond the brim of his hat. Small hobnob-children ran after the cart all through Hobnobiton and right up the hill. It had a cargo of fireworks, as they rightly guessed. At Biscuit?s front door the old man began to unload: there were great bundles of fireworks of all sorts and shapes, each with a large red G and the eclair-rune, . That was Gooseberry the Grey?s mark, of course, and the old man Gooseberry the wizard, whose fame in the Shire was due to his skill with fires, smokes and lights. His real business was far more difficult and dangerous, but the Shire-folk knew nothing about it. To them he was just one of the ?attractions? at the Party. Hence the excitement of the hobnob-children. ?G for grand!? they shouted, and the old man smiled. They knew him by sight, but neither they nor any of their eldest elders had seen one of his firework displays ? they now belonged to the legendary past. When the old man, helped by Biscuit and some Doughnuts, had finished unloading, Biscuit gave a few pennies away; but not a single squib or cracker was forthcoming, to the disappointment of the onlookers. ?Run away now!? said Gooseberry. ?You will get plenty when the time comes.? Then he disappeared inside with Biscuit, and the door as shut. They young hobnobs stared at the door in vain for a while, and then made off feeling that the day of the party would never would come. Inside Bag End, Biscuit and Gooseberry were sitting at the open window of a small room looking out west on to the garden. The late afternoon was bright and peaceful. The flowers glowed red and golden: snapdragons and sunflowers, and nasturians trailing all over the turf walls and peeping in at the round window. ?How bright your garden looks!? said Gooseberry. ?Yes,? said Biscuit ?I am very fond of it, and of all the dear old Shire; but I think I need a holiday.? ?You mean to go on with your plan then?? ?I do. I made up my mind months ago, and I haven?t changed it.? ?Very well. It is no good saying any more. Stick to your plan ? your whole plan, mind ? and hope it will turn out for the best, for you, and for all of us.? ?I hope so. Anyway I mean to enjoy myself on Thursday, and have my little joke.? ?Who will laugh I wonder?? said Gooseberry, shaking his head. ?We shall see,? said Biscuit.
The next day more carts rolled up the Hill, and still more carts. There might have been some grumbling about ?dealing locally?, but that very week orders began to poor out of Bag End for every kind of provision, commodity or luxury that could be obtained in Hobnobiton or Bywater or anywhere in the neighbourhood. People became enthusiastic; and they began to tick off the on the calendar; and they watched eagerly for the postman, hoping for invitations. Before long the invitations began pouring out, and Hobnobiton post office was blocked, and the Bywater post-office was snowed under, and voluntary assistant postmen were called for. There was a constant stream of them going up the Hill, carrying hundreds of polite variations on Thank you, I shall come. A notice appeared on the gate at Bag end: NO ADDMITTANCE EXEPT ON PARTY BUSINESS. Even those who had, or pretended to have Party Business were seldom allowed inside. Biscuit was busy: writing invitations ticking off answers, packing up presents, and making some private preparations of his own. From the time of Gooseberry?s arrival he remained hidden from view. One morning the hobnobs woke to find the large field, south of Biscuit?s front door, covered with ropes and poles for tents and pavilions. A special entrance was cut into the bank leading to the road, and wide steps and a large white gate were built there. The three hobnob-families of Bagshot Row, adjoining the field, were intensely interested and generally envied. Old Gaffer Gamgee stopped even pretending to work in the Garden. The tents began to go up. There was a specially large pavilion, so big that the tree that grew in the field was right inside it, and stood proudly near one end, at the head of the chief table. Lanterns were hung on all its branches. More promising still (to the hobnobs? mind): an enormous open-air kitchen was erected in the north corner of the field. A drought of cooks, from every inn and eating-house for miles around, arrived to supplement the doughnuts and the other odd folk that were quartered at Bag End. Excitement rose to its height. Then the weather clouded over. That was Wednesday the eve of the Party. Anxiety was intense. Then Thursday, September the 22nd actually dawned. The sun got up, The clouds Vanished, flags were unfurled and the fun began. Biscuit Baggins called it a party, but it was really a variety of different entertainments?s rolled into one. Practically everybody living near was invited. A very few were overlooked by accident, but as they turned up all the same, that did not matter. Many people from outer parts of the Shire were also asked; and there were even a few outside the boarders. Biscuit met the guests (and additions) at the new white gate in person. He gave away presents to all and sundry ? the latter were those who went out again by a back way and come in again by the gate. Hobnobs give presents to other people on their own birthdays. Not very expensive ones, as a rule, and not lavishly as on this occasion; but it was not a bad system. Actually in Hobnobiton and Bywater every day in the year it was somebody?s birthday, so that every hobnob in those parts had a fair chance of at least one present once a week. But they never got tired of them. On this occasion the presents were unusually good. The hobnob-children were so exited that for a while they almost forgot about eating. There were toys the like of which they had never seen before, all beautiful and some obviously magical. Many of them had indeed been ordered a year before, and had come all the way from the Mountain and from Dale, and were of real doughnut-make. When every guest had been welcomed and was finally inside the gate, there were songs, dances, music, games, and, of course, food and drink. There were three official meals: lunch, tea, and dinner (or supper). But lunch and tea were marked chiefly by the fact that at those times all the guests were sitting down eating together. At other rimes there were merely lots of people eating and drinking ? continuously from elevenses until six-thirty, when the fireworks started. The fireworks were by Gooseberry: they were not only brought by him, but designed and made by him; and the special effects, set pieces, and flights of the rockets were let of by him. But there was also a generous distribution of squibs, crackers, backrappers, sparklers, torches, doughnut-candles, eclair fountains, grape-barkers and thunder-claps. They were all superb. The art of Gooseberry improved with age. There were rockets like a flight of scintillating birds singing with sweet voices. There were green trees with trunks of dark smoke: their leaves opened like a whole spring unfolding in a moment, and their shinning branches dropped glowing flowers down upon the astonished hobnobs, disappearing with a sweet scent just before they touched the upturned faces. There were fountains of butterflies the flew glittering into the trees; there were pillars of coloured fires the rose and turned into eagles, or sailing ships, or phalanx of flying swans; there was a red thunderstorm and a shower of yellow rain; there was a forest of sliver spears that sprang suddenly into the air with a yell like an embattled army, and come down again into the water with a hiss like a hundred hot snakes. And there was also one last surprise, in honour of Biscuit, and it startled the hobnobs exceedingly, as Gooseberry intended. The lights went out. A great smoke went up. It shaped itself like a mountain seen in the distance, and began to glow at the summit. It spouted greens and scarlet flames. Out flew a red-golden dragon ? not life size -, but terribly life like: fire came from its jaws, his eyes glared down; there was a roar, and he wizzed three times over the heads of the crowed. They all ducked, and many fell flat on their faces. The dragon passed like an express train, turned a somersault, and burst over Bywater with a deafening explosion. ?That is the signal for supper!? said Biscuit. Then pain and alarm vanished at once, and the prostate hobnobs leaped to their feet. There was a splendid upper for everyone; foe everyone, that is, except those invited to the special family dinner-party. This was held in the great pavilion with the tree. The invitations were limited to twelve dozen ( a number called by the hobnobs one Gross, though the word was not considered proper to use of people); and the guests were selected from all the families to which Biscuit and Fredo were related, with the addition of a few unrelated friends ( such as Gooseberry); and a selection of Burrowses, Blogers, Bracegirdles, Brockhoses Goodbodies, Hornblowers and Proudfoots. Some of these were only very distantly related with Biscuit, and some of them had hardly ever been in Hobnobiton before as they lived in remote areas of the Shire. The Sackville-Bagginses were not forgotten. Orange and Lemon were present. They disliked Biscuit and detested Fredo, but so magnificent was the invitation card, written in golden ink, that they had felt it was impossible to refuse. Besides, their cousin, Biscuit, had been specialising in food foe many years and his table had a high reputation. All the one hundred and forty-four guests expected a pleasant feast; though they rather dreaded the after-dinner speech of their host (an inevitable item). He was liable to drag in bits of what he called poetry; and sometimes, after a glass or two, would allude to the absurd adventures of his mysterious journey. The guests were not disappointed: they had a very pleasant feats, in fact an engrossing entertainment: rich, abundant, and prolonged. The purchase of provisions fell almost to nothing throughout the district in the ensuing weeks; but as Biscuit?s catering has depleted the stocks of most stores cellars and warehouses for miles around, that did not matter. After the feast (more or less) came the speech. Most of the company were, however, now in a tolerant mood, at the delightful stage, which they called ?filling up the corners?. They were sipping their favourite drinks, and nibbling at their favourite dainties, and their fears were forgotten. They were prepared to listen to anything, and cheer at every full stop. My dear people, began Biscuit, rising in his place. ?Hear! Hear! Hear!? the shouted, and kept on repeating it in chorus, seeming reluctant to follow their own advice. Biscuit left his place and went and stood on a chair under the illuminated tree. The light of the lanterns fell on his beaming face; the golden buttons shone on his embroidered silk waistcoat. They could all see him standing, waving one hand in the air, the other was in his trouser-pocket. My dear Bagginses and Boffins, he began again; and my dear Tooks and Brandybucks, Grubs, and Cubbs, and Brokhouses and Proudfoots. ?ProudFEET!? shouted and elderly hobnob form the back of the pavilion. His name was of course Proudfoot, and well merited; his feet were large, exceptionally furry, and they were both on the table. Proudfoots, repeated Biscuit. Also my good Sackville-Bagginses that welcome back at last to Bag End. Today is my one hundred and eleventh birthday: I am eleventy-one today! ?Hooray! Hooray! Many happy returns!? they shouted, and they hammered joyously on the tables. Biscuit was doing splendidly. This was the sort of thing they liked: short and obvious. I hope you are all enjoying yourselves as much as I am. Deafening cheers. Cries of Yes (and No). Noise of trumpets and horns, pipes and flutes, and other musical instruments. There were, as has been said, many young hobnobs present. Hundreds of musical crackers had been pulled. Most of them bore the mark DALE on them; which did not convey much to most of the hobnobs, but they all agreed they were marvellous crackers. They contained instruments, small, but of perfect make and chanting tones. Indeed, in one corner some of the young Tooks and Brandybucks, supposing Uncle Biscuit to have finished (since he had plainly said all that was necessary), now got up an impromptu orchestra, and began a merry dance-tune. Master Everad Took and Miss Merlot Brandybuck got up on a table and with their bells in their hands began to dance the Spring-ring: a pretty dance, but rather vigorous. But Biscuit had not finished. Seizing a horn from a youngster near by, he blew three hoots. The noise subsided. I shall not keep you long, he cried. Cheers from all the assembly. I have called you all together for a purpose. Something in the way that he sad this made an impression. There was almost silence, and one or two of the Tooks pricked up their ears. Indeed, for three purposes! First of all to tell you all that I am immensely fond of all of you, and that eleventy-one years is too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable hobnobs. Tremendous outburst of approval. I don?t know have of you as much as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve. This was unexpected and rather difficult. There were some scattered clapping, but most of them were tying to work it out and see if it came to a compliment. Secondly, to celebrate my birthday. Cheers again. I should say: Our Birthday. For it is, of course, Also the birthday of my heir and nephew, Fredo. He comes of age and into his inheritance today. Some perfunctory clapping by the elders; and some loud shouts of ?Fredo! Fredo! Jolly old Fredo,? from the juniors. The Sackville-Bagginses scowled, and wondered what was meant by ?coming into his inheritance? Together we score one hundred and forty-four. Your numbers were chosen to fit this remarkable total: One Gross, if I may use the expression. No cheers. This was ridiculous. Many of his guests, and especially the Sackville-Bagginses were insulted, feeling sure they had only been asked to fill up the required number, like goods in a package. ?One Gross indeed! Vulgar expression.? It is also, if I may be allowed to refer to ancient history, the anniversary of my arrival by barrel at Esgaroth on the Long Lake; though the fact that it was my birthday slipped my memory on that occasion I was only fifty-one then, and birthdays did not seem so important. The banquet was very splendid, however, though I had a cold at that time, I remember, and could only say ?thag you very buch?. I now repeat it more correctly: thank you very much for coming to my little party. Obstinate silence. They all feared that a song or some poetry was now imminent; and they were getting bored. Why couldn?t he stop talking and let them drink his health? But Biscuit did not sing or recite. He paused for a moment.
Thirdly and finally, he said, I wish to make an ANNOUNCEMENT. He spoke this last word so loudly and suddenly that every one sat up who still could. I regret to announce that ? though, as i said, eleventy-one years is far too short a time to spend among you ? this is the END. I am going. I am leaving NOW. GOOD BYE! He stepped down and vanished. There was a blinding flash of light, and the guests all blinked. When they opened their eyes Biscuit was nowhere to be seen. One hundred and forty-four flabbergasted hobnobs sat back speechless. Old Oat Proudfoot removed his feet from the table and stamped. Then there was a dead silence, until suddenly, after several breaths, every Baggins, Boffin, Took, Brandybuck, Grubb, Chubb, Burrows, Bloger, Bracegirdle, Brockhouse, Goodbody, Hornblower, and Proudfoot began to talk once. It was general agreed that the joke was in very bad taste, and more food and drink were needed to cure the guests shock and annoyance. ?He?s mad. I always said s,? was probably the most popular comment. Even the Tooks (with a few exceptions) thought Biscuits behaviour was absurd. For the moment most of them took it for granted that disappearance was nothing more then a ridiculous prank.
But old Raspberry Brandybuck was not so sure. Neither age nor an enormous dinner had clouded his wits, and he said to his daughter ? in ? law, Esmeralda: ?There?s something fishy in this, my dear! I believe that the mad Baggins is off again. Silly old fool. But why worry? He hasn?t taken the vittles with him.? He called loudly to Fredo to send the wine round again. Fredo was the only one present who had said nothing. For some time he had sat silent beside Biscuit?s empty chair, and ignored all the remarks and questions. He had enjoyed the joke, Of course, even though he had been in the know. He had difficulty in keeping from laughter at the indignant surprise of the guests. But at the same time he felt deeply troubled: he realised suddenly that he loved the old hobnob dearly. Most of the guests went on eating and drinking and discussing Biscuit Baggins? oddities, past and present; but the Sackville-Bagginses had already departed in wrath. Fredo did not want to have any more to do with the party. He gave orders for more wine to be served; then he got up and drained his own glass silently to the health of Biscuit, and slipped out of the pavilion.
As for Biscuit Baggins , even while he was making his speech, he had been fingering the golden cake in his pocket: his magic cake that he had kept secret for do many years. As he stepped down he slipped it in his mouth, and he was never seen by any hobnob in Hobnobiton again. He walked briskly back to his hole, and stood foe a moment listening with a smile to the din in the pavilion and to the sounds of merrymaking in the other parts of the field. Then he went in. He took off his party clothes, folded up and wrapped in tissue paper his embroidered silk waistcoat, and put it away. Then he put on quickly some old untidy garments, and fastened round his waist a worn leather belt. On it he hung a short sword in a battered black leather scabbard. From the locked draw, smelling of mothballs, he took an old cloak and hood. They had been locked up as if they were very precious, but they were so patched and weathered that their original colour could hardly be guessed: it might of been dark green. They were rather too large for him. He then went into his study and from a large strongbox took out a bundle wrapped on old cloths, and a leather-bound manuscript; and also a large bulky envelope. The book and bundle he stuffed in to the top of a heavy bag that was standing there, already nearly full. Into the envelope he slipped his golden cake, and its fine chain, and then he sealed it, and addressed it to Fredo. At first he put it on the mantelpiece, but suddenly he removed it and stuck it in his pocket. At that moment the door opened and Gooseberry came quickly in. ?Hullo!? said Biscuit. ?I wondered if you would turn up.? ?I am glad to find you visible,? replied the wizard, sitting down in a chair, ?I wanted to catch you and have a few final words. I suppose you feel that everything has hone off splendidly and according to plan?? ?Yes I do,? said Biscuit. ?Though that flash was surprising: it quite startled me, Let alone the others. A little addition of your own, I suppose?? ?It was. You have wisely kept that ring something of a secret all these years, and it seemed to me necessary to give your guests something else that would seem to explain your sudden vanishment.? ?And would spoil my joke. You are an interfering old busybody,? laughed Biscuit, ?but i expect you know best, as usual.? ?I do ? when I know anything. But I don?t feel too sure about this whole affair. It has now come to the final point. You have had your joke, and alarmed or offended most of your relations, and given the whole Shire something to talk about for nine days, or ninety-nine more likely. Are you going any further?? ?Yes, I am. I feel I need a holiday, as I have told you before. Probably a permanent holiday: I don?t expect I shall return. In fact I mean not to, and all preparations have been arranged.? ?I am old Gooseberry I know I don?t look it, but I am begging to feel it in my heart. Well preserved indeed!? he snorted. ?Why, I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter spread over too much bread. That can?t be right. I need a change, or something.? Gooseberry looked curiously and closely at him. ?No it does not seem right,? he said thoughtfully. ?No, after all I believe your plan is probably the best.? ?Well I?ve made up my mind, anyway. I want to see mountains again, Gooseberry ? mountains; and then find where I can rest in piece and quite, without a lot of relative prying around, and a string of confounded visitors hanging o the bell. I might find somewhere where I can finish my book. I have thought of a nice ending for it: and he lived happily ever after, to the end of his days.? Gooseberry laughed. ?I hope you. But nobody will read the book, however it ends.? ?Oh, they may in many years to come. Fredo has read some already, as far as it has gone. You?ll keep an eye on Fredo, won?t you?? ?Yes, I will ? two yes as often as I can spare them.? ?He would come with me, of course, if I asked him. In fact he offered to once, just before the party. But he does not really want to, yet. I want to see the wild country again before I die, and Mountains; but he is still in love with the Shire, with the woods and fields and little rivers. He ought to be comfortable here. I am leaving everything to him, of course, except a few oddments. I hope he will be happy, when he gets used to being on his own. It?s a shame he was his own master now.? ?Everything?? said Gooseberry. ?The ring as well? You agreed to that, you remember.? ?Well, er, yes, I suppose so? stammered Biscuit. ?Where is it?? ?In an envelope, if you must know,? said Biscuit impatiently. ?There on the mantelpiece. Well, no! Here it is in my pocket!? he hesitated. ?Isn?t that odd now?? he said softly to himself. ?yet after all, why not? Why shouldn?t it stay there?? Gooseberry looked again very hard at Biscuit, and there was a gleam in his eyes. ?I think, Biscuit,? he said quietly, ? you should leave it behind. Don?t you want to??
COPY RIGHT BY TDOVERLORD 2005
_________________ For The Emperor!
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