challenge11_data.txt

* BOOK I *



Chapter 1 . A Long-expected Party

When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be
celebrating his eleventy -first birthday with a party of special
magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton.

Bilbo was very rich and very peculiar, and had been the wonder of the
Shire for sixty years, ever since his remarkable disappearance and
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 same as at fifty. At ninety-nine they
began to call him we//-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

hobbits of poor and unimportant families. But he had no close friends, until
some of his younger cousins began to grow up.

The eldest of these, and Bilbo's favourite, was young Frodo Baggins.
When Bilbo was ninety-nine, he adopted Frodo as his heir, and brought him to
live at Bag End; and the hopes of the Sackville-Bagginses were finally
dashed. Bilbo and Frodo happened to have the same birthday, September
22nd.

'You had better come and live here, Frodo my lad,' said Bilbo one day; 'and
then we can celebrate our birthday-parties comfortably together.' At that




time Frodo was still in his tweens, as the hobbits called the irresponsible
twenties between childhood and coming of age at thirty-three.

Twelve more years passed. Each year the Bagginses had given very lively
combined birthday-parties at Bag End; but now it was understood that
something quite exceptional was being planned for that autumn. Bilbo was
going to be eleventy-one, 111, a rather curious number and a very
respectable age for a hobbit (the Old Took himself had only reached 130);
and Frodo was going to be thirty-three, 33) an important number: the date of
his 'coming of age'.

Tongues began to wag in Flobbiton and By water; and rumour of the coming
event travelled all over the Shire. The history and character of Mr. Bilbo
Baggins became once again the chief topic of conversation; and the older
folk suddenly found their reminiscences in 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 Holman in the same job before
that. Now that he was himself growing old and stiff in the joints, the job
was mainly carried on by his youngest son, Sam Gamgee. Both father and son
were on very friendly terms with Bilbo and Frodo. They lived on the Hill
itself, in Number 3 Bagshot Row just below Bag End.

’A very nice well-spoken gentlehobbit is Mr. Bilbo, as I've always
said,' the Gaffer declared. With perfect truth: for Bilbo was very polite to
him, calling him 'Master Hamfast', and consulting him constantly upon the
growing of vegetables - in the matter of 'roots', especially potatoes, the
Gaffer was recognized as the leading authority by all in the neighbourhood
(including himself).

'But what about this Frodo that lives with him?' asked Old Noakes of
By water. 'Baggins is his name, but he's more than half a Brandybuck, they
say. It beats me why any Baggins of Hobbiton should go looking for a wife
away there in Buckland, where folks are so queer.'

'And no wonder they're queer,' put in Daddy Twofoot (the Gaffer's
next-door neighbour), 'if they live on the wrong side of the Brandywine
River, and right agin the Old Forest. That's a dark bad place, if half the
tales be true.'

'You're right, Dad!' said the Gaffer. 'Not that the Brandybucks of
Buck-land 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 that as it may, Mr. Frodo is
as nice a young hobbit as you could wish to meet. Very much like Mr. Bilbo,
and in more than looks. After all his father was a Baggins. A decent
respectable hobbit was Mr. Drogo Baggins; there was never much to tell of
him, till he was drownded.'

'Drownded?' said several voices. They had heard this and other darker
rumours before, of course; but hobbits have a passion for family history,
and they were ready to hear it again. 'Well, so they say,' said the Gaffer.

'You see: Mr. Drogo, he married poor Miss Primula Brandybuck. She was
our

Mr. Bilbo's first cousin on the mother's side (her mother being the youngest
of the Old Took's daughters); and Mr. Drogo was his second cousin. So Mr.
Frodo is his first and second cousin, once removed either way, as the saying
is, if you follow me. And Mr. Drogo was staying at Brandy Flail with his
father-in-law, old Master Gorbadoc, as he often did after his marriage (him
being partial to his vittles, and old Gorbadoc keeping a mighty generous
table); and he went out boating on the Brandywine River; and he and his wife
were drownded, and poor Mr. Frodo only a child and all. '

'I've heard they went on the water after dinner in the moonlight,' said
Old Noakes; 'and it was Drogo's weight as sunk the boat.'

'And / heard she pushed him in, and he pulled her in after him,' said
Sandy man, the Hobbiton miller.

'You shouldn't listen to all you hear, Sandyman,' 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
looking further for the cause of trouble. Anyway: there was this Mr. Frodo
left an orphan and stranded, as you might say, among those queer
Bucklanders, being brought up anyhow in Brandy Hall. A regular warren, by
all accounts. Old Master Gorbadoc never had fewer than a couple of hundred
relations in the place. Mr. Bilbo never did a kinder deed than 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 produces an heir, and has 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 Michel 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. Bilbo is free with his money, and there seems
no lack of it; but I know of no tunnel -making. I saw Mr. Bilbo when he came
back, a matter of sixty years ago, when I was a lad. I'd not long come
prentice to old Holman (him being my dad's cousin), but he had me up at Bag
End helping him to keep folks from trampling and trapessing all over the
garden while the sale was on. And in the middle of it all Mr. Bilbo comes up
the Hill with a 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, they say; but there wasn't enough
to fill tunnels. But my lad Sam 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. Bilbo's tales. Mr. Bilbo has learned him his letters - meaning no harm,
mark you, and I hope no harm will come of it.

'Elves and Dragons' Isays to him. 'Cabbages and potatoes are better
for me and you. Don 't go getting mixed up in the business of your betters,
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 Bilbo's
wealth was now too firmly fixed in the minds of the younger generation of
hobbits.

'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: dwarves coming at night, and
that old wandering conjuror, Gandalf, 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. Sandyman,' retorted the Gaffer, disliking the miller even
more than usual. If that's being queer, then we could do with a bit 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 Sam 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 Sam) was spread
about that there were going to be fireworks - fireworks, what is more, such
as had not been seen in the Shire for nigh on a century, not indeed since
the Old Took died.

Days passed and The Day drew nearer. An odd-looking waggon laden with
odd-looking packages rolled into Hobbiton one evening and toiled up the Hill
to Bag End. The startled hobbits peered out of lamplit doors to gape at it.

It was driven by outlandish folk, singing strange songs: dwarves 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 hobbit-children ran after the cart all through
Hobbiton and right up the hill. It had a cargo of fireworks, as they rightly
guessed. At Bilbo's front door the old man began to unload: there were great
bundles of fireworks of all sorts and shapes, each labelled with a large red
G and the elf-rune, .

That was Gandalf s mark, of course, and the old man was Gandalf the
Wizard, whose fame in the Shire was due mainly 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 hobbit-children. 'G
for Grand!' they shouted, and the old man smiled. They knew him by sight,
though he only appeared in Hobbiton occasionally and never stopped long; but
neither they nor any but the oldest of their elders had seen one of his
firework displays - they now belonged to the legendary past.

When the old man, helped by Bilbo and some dwarves, had finished
unloading. Bilbo gave a few pennies away; but not a single squib or cracker
was forthcoming, to the disappointment of the onlookers.

'Run away now!' said Gandalf. 'You will get plenty when the time
comes.' Then he disappeared inside with Bilbo, and the door was shut. The
young hobbits stared at the door in vain for a while, and then made off,




feeling that the day of the party would never come.

Inside Bag End, Bilbo and Gandalf 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: snap-dragons and
sun-flowers, and nasturtiums trailing all over the turf walls and peeping in
at the round windows.

'How bright your garden looks!' said Gandalf.

'Yes,' said Bilbo. I am very fond indeed 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 I 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 Gandalf, shaking his head.

'We shall see,' said Bilbo.

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 pour out of Bag End for every kind of provision, commodity,
or luxury that could be obtained in Hobbiton or Bywater or anywhere in the
neighbourhood. People became enthusiastic; and they began to tick off the
days on the calendar; and they watched eagerly for the postman, hoping for
invitations.

Before long the invitations began pouring out, and the Hobbiton
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 certainly come.

A notice appeared on the gate at Bag End: NO ADMITTANCE EXCEPT
ON PARTY

BUSINESS. Even those who had, or pretended to have Party Business were
seldom allowed inside. Bilbo was busy: writing invitations, ticking off
answers, packing up presents, and making some private preparations of his
own. From the time of Gandalf s arrival he remained hidden from view.

One morning the hobbits woke to find the large field, south of Bilbo'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 hobbit-families of Bagshot Row,
adjoining the field, were intensely interested and generally envied. Old
Gaffer Gamgee stopped even pretending to work in his 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 hobbits’ mind): an enormous open-air
kitchen was erected in the north corner of the field. A draught of cooks,
from every inn and eating-house for miles around, arrived to supplement the
dwarves and other odd folk that were quartered at Bag End. Excitement rose
to its height.

Then the weather clouded over. That was on 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.

Bilbo Baggins called it a party, but it was really a variety of
entertainments 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 other parts of the Shire
were also asked; and there were even a few from outside the borders. Bilbo
met the guests (and additions) at the new white gate in person. Ele gave away
presents to all and sundry - the latter were those who went out again by a
back way and came in again by the gate. Hobbits give presents to other
people on their own birthdays. Not very expensive ones, as a rule, and not
so lavishly as on this occasion; but it was not a bad system. Actually in
Hobbiton and Bywater every day in the year it was somebody’s birthday, so
that every hobbit in those parts had a fair chance of at least one present
at least once a week. But they never got tired of them.

On this occasion the presents were unusually good. The hobbit-children
were so excited 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
dwarf-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 and eating together. At other times there were
merely lots of people eating and drinking - continuously from elevenses
until six-thirty, when the fireworks started.

The fireworks were by Gandalf: they were not only brought by him, but
designed and made by him; and the special effects, set pieces, and flights
of rockets were let off by him. But there was also a generous distribution
of squibs, crackers, backarappers, sparklers, torches, dwarf-candles,
elf-fountains, goblin -barkers and thunder -claps. They were all superb. The
art of Gandalf 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 shining branches
dropped glowing flowers down upon the astonished hobbits, disappearing with
a sweet scent just before they touched their upturned faces. There were
fountains of butterflies that flew glittering into the trees; there were
pillars of coloured fires that rose and turned into eagles, or sailing
ships, or a phalanx of flying swans; there was a red thunderstorm and a
shower of yellow rain; there was a forest of silver spears that sprang
suddenly into the air with a yell like an embattled army, and came down
again into the Water with a hiss like a hundred hot snakes. And there was
also one last surprise, in honour of Bilbo, and it startled the hobbits
exceedingly, as Gandalf 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 green and scarlet flames. Out flew a red -golden
dragon - not life-size, but terribly life-like: fire came from his jaws, his
eyes glared down; there was a roar, and he whizzed three times over the
heads of the crowd. 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 Bilbo. The pain and alarm
vanished at once, and the prostrate hobbits leaped to their feet. There was
a splendid supper for everyone; for 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 also called




by the hobbits one Gross, though the word was not considered proper to use
of people); and the guests were selected from all the families to which
Bilbo and Frodo were related, with the addition of a few special unrelated
friends (such as Gandalf). Many young hobbits were included, and present by
parental permission; for hobbits were easy-going with their children in the
matter of sitting up late, especially when there was a chance of getting
them a free meal. Bringing up young hobbits took a lot of provender.

There were many Bagginses and Boffins, and also many Tooks and
Brandybucks; there were various Grubbs (relations of Bilbo Baggins'
grandmother), and various Chubbs (connexions of his Took grandfather); and
selection of Burrowses, Bolgers, Bracegirdles, Brockhouses, Goodbodies,
Hornblowers and Proudfoots. Some of these were only very distantly
connected

with Bilbo, and some of them had hardly ever been in Hobbiton before, as
they lived in remote corners of the Shire. The Sackville-Bagginses were not
forgotten. Otho and his wife Lobelia were present. They disliked Bilbo and
detested Frodo, but so magnificent was the invitation card, written in
golden ink, that they had felt it was impossible to refuse. Besides, their
cousin, Bilbo, had been specializing in food for 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). Fie 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 feast, in fact an engrossing entertainment: rich, abundant, varied,
and prolonged. The purchase of provisions fell almost to nothing throughout
the district in the ensuing weeks; but as Bilbo's catering had depleted the
stocks of most stores, cellars and warehouses for miles around, that did not
matter much.

After the feast (more or less) came the Speech. Most of the company
were, however, now in a tolerant mood, at that 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 to cheer at every full stop.

My dear People, began Bilbo, rising in his place. ’Flear! Flear! Hear!’
they shouted, and kept on repeating it in chorus, seeming reluctant to




follow their own advice. Bilbo 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, and Grubbs, and Chubbs, and Burrowses, and Hornblowers,
and

Bolgers, Bracegirdles, Goodbodies, Brockhouses and Proudfoots.

'ProudFEET!'

shouted an elderly hobbit from the back of the pavilion. His name, of
course, was Proudfoot, and well merited; his feet were large, exceptionally
furry, and both were on the table.

Proudfoots, repeated Bilbo. Also my good Sackville-Bagginses that I
welcome back at last to Bag End. Today is my one hundred and eleventh
birthday: I am eleventy -one today!' Hurray! Hurray! Many Happy Returns!'
they shouted, and they hammered joyously on the tables. Bilbo was doing
splendidly. This was the sort of stuff they liked: short and obvious.

I hope you are all enjoying yourselves as much as I am. Deafening
cheers. Cries of Yes (and No). Noises of trumpets and horns, pipes and
flutes, and other musical instruments. There were, as has been said, many
young hobbits 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

hobbits, but they all agreed they were marvellous crackers. They contained
instruments, small, but of perfect make and enchanting tones. Indeed, in one
corner some of the young Tooks and Brandybucks, supposing Uncle Bilbo 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 Everard Took
and Miss Melilot Brandybuck got on a table and with bells in their hands
began to dance the Springle-ring: a pretty dance, but rather vigorous.

But Bilbo had not finished. Seizing a horn from a youngster near by, he
blew three loud hoots. The noise subsided. / shall not keep you long, he
cried. Cheers from all the assembly. / have called you all together for a
Purpose. Something in the way that he said 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 that I am




immensely fond of you all, and that eleventy-one years is too short a time
to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits. Tremendous outburst of
approval.

/ don 't know half of you half as well 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 was some scattered clapping, but most of them were trying
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,

Frodo. He comes of age and into his inheritance today. Some perfunctory
clapping by the elders; and some loud shouts of ’Frodo! Frodo! Jolly old
Frodo,' 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 bad cold at the time, I remember, and
could only say 'thagyou 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 Bilbo
did not sing or recite. Fie paused for a moment.

Thirdly and finally, he said, I wish to make an ANNOUNCEMENT. Fie
spoke

this last word so loudly and suddenly that everyone 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 7

He stepped down and vanished. There was a blinding flash of light, and
the guests all blinked. When they opened their eyes Bilbo was nowhere to be
seen. One hundred and forty-four flabbergasted hobbits sat back speechless.




Old Odo Proudfoot removed his feet from the table and stamped. Then there
was a dead silence, until suddenly, after several deep breaths, every
Baggins, Boffin, Took, Brandybuck, Grubb, Chubb, Burrows, Bolger,
Bracegirdle, Brockhouse, Goodbody, Hornblower, and Proudfoot began to
talk

at once.

It was generally agreed that the joke was in very bad taste, and more
food and drink were needed to cure the guests of shock and annoyance. 'He's
mad. I always said so,' was probably the most popular comment. Even the
Tooks (with a few exceptions) thought Bilbo’s behaviour was absurd. For the
moment most of them took it for granted that his disappearance was nothing
more than a ridiculous prank.

But old Rory 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 mad Baggins is off
again. Silly old fool. But why worry? He hasn't taken the vittles with him.'

He called loudly to Frodo to send the wine round again.

Frodo was the only one present who had said nothing. For some time he
had sat silent beside Bilbo's empty chair, and ignored all 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
realized suddenly that he loved the old hobbit dearly. Most of the guests
went on eating and drinking and discussing Bilbo Baggins' oddities, past and
present; but the Sackville-Bagginses had already departed in wrath. Frodo
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 Bilbo, and slipped out of the pavilion.

As for Bilbo Baggins, even while he was making his speech, he had been
fingering the golden ring in his pocket: his magic ring that he had kept
secret for so many years. As he stepped down he slipped it on his finger,
and he was never seen by any hobbit in Hobbiton again.

He walked briskly back to his hole, and stood for a moment listening
with a smile to the din in the pavilion and to the sounds of merrymaking in
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 a locked drawer, smelling of
moth-balls, he took out an old cloak and hood. They had been locked up as if
they were very precious, but they were so patched and weatherstained that
their original colour could hardly be guessed: it might have been dark
green. They were rather too large for him. He then went into his study, and
from a large strong-box took out a bundle wrapped in old cloths, and a
leather -bound manuscript; and also a large bulky envelope. The book and
bundle he stuffed into the top of a heavy bag that was standing there,
already nearly full. Into the envelope he slipped his golden ring, and its
fine chain, and then sealed it, and addressed it to Frodo. 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 Gandalf came quickly in.

'Hullo!' said Bilbo. '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 gone off splendidly and according to plan?'

'Yes, I do,' said Bilbo. "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 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
Bilbo, '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, a very long holiday, as I have
told you before. Probably a permanent holiday: I don't expect I shall
return. In fact, I don't mean to, and I have made all arrangements.

'I am old, Gandalf. I don't look it, but I am beginning to feel it in
my heart of hearts. Well-preserved indeed!' he snorted. 'Why, I feel all
thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been
scraped over too much bread. That can't be right. I need a change, or




something.'

Gandalf 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,
Gandalf, mountains, and then find somewhere where I can rest. In peace and
quiet, without a lot of relatives prying around, and a string of confounded
visitors hanging on 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. '

Gandalf laughed. I hope he will. But nobody will read the book, however
it ends.'

'Oh, they may, in years to come. Frodo has read some already, as far as
it has gone. You'll keep an eye on Frodo, won't you?'

'Yes, I will - two eyes, 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 the Mountains; but he is
still in love with the Shire, with 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 time he was his own master now.'

'Everything?' said Gandalf. 'The ring as well? You agreed to that, you
remember.'

'Well, er, yes, I suppose so,' stammered Bilbo.

'Where is it?'

'In an envelope, if you must know,' said Bilbo 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?'

Gandalf looked again very hard at Bilbo, and there was a gleam in his
eyes. 'I think, Bilbo,' he said quietly, 'I should leave it behind. Don't
you want to?'

'Well yes - and no. Now it comes to it, I don't like parting with it at
all, I may say. And I don't really see why I should. Why do you want me to?'
he asked, and a curious change came over his voice. It was sharp with




suspicion and annoyance. 'You are always badgering me about my ring; but
you

have never bothered me about the other things that I got on my journey.'

'No, but I had to badger you,' said Gandalf. 'I wanted the truth. It
was important. Magic rings are - well, magical; and they are rare and
curious. I was professionally interested in your ring, you may say; and I
still am. I should like to know where it is, if you go wandering again. Also
I think you have had it quite long enough. You won't need it any more.
Bilbo, unless I am quite mistaken.'

Bilbo flushed, and there was an angry light in his eyes. His kindly
face grew hard. 'Why not?' he cried. 'And what business is it of yours,
anyway, to know what I do with my own things? It is my own. I found it. It
came to me.'

'Yes, yes,' said Gandalf. 'But there is no need to get angry.'

'If I am it is your fault,' said Bilbo. 'It is mine, I tell you. My
own. My precious. Yes, my precious.'

The wizard's face remained grave and attentive, and only a flicker in
his deep eyes showed that he was startled and indeed alarmed. 'It has been
called that before,' he said, 'but not by you.'

'But I say it now. And why not? Even if Gollum said the same once. It's
not his now, but mine. And I shall keep it, I say.'

Gandalf stood up. He spoke sternly. 'You will be a fool if you do.

Bilbo,' he said. 'You make that clearer with every word you say. It has got
far too much hold on you. Let it go! And then you can go yourself, and be
free.'

'I'll do as I choose and go as I please,' said Bilbo obstinately.

'Now, now, my dear hobbit! ' said Gandalf. 'All your long life we have
been friends, and you owe me something. Come! Do as you promised: give it
up! '

'Well, if you want my ring yourself, say so!' cried Bilbo. 'But you
won't get it. I won't give my precious away, I tell you.' His hand strayed
to the hilt of his small sword.

Gandalf s eyes flashed. It will be my turn to get angry soon,' he said.

If you say that again, I shall. Then you will see Gandalf the Grey
uncloaked.' He took a step towards the hobbit, and he seemed to grow tall
and menacing; his shadow filled the little room.

Bilbo backed away to the wall, breathing hard, his hand clutching at




his pocket. They stood for a while facing one another, and the air of the
room tingled. Gandalf s eyes remained bent on the hobbit. Slowly his hands
relaxed, and he began to tremble.

'I don’t know what has come over you, Gandalf,' he said. 'You have
never been like this before. What is it all about? It is mine isn't it? I
found it, and Gollum would have killed me, if I hadn't kept it. I'm not a
thief, whatever he said.'

'I have never called you one,' Gandalf answered. 'And I am not one
either. I am not trying to rob you, but to help you. I wish you would trust
me, as you used.' He turned away, and the shadow passed. He seemed to
dwindle again to an old grey man, bent and troubled.

Bilbo drew his hand over his eyes. I am sorry,' he said. 'But I felt so
queer. And yet it would be a relief in a way not to be bothered with it any
more. It has been so growing on my mind lately. Sometimes I have felt it was
like an eye looking at me. And I am always wanting to put it on and
disappear, don't you know; or wondering if it is safe, and pulling it out to
make sure. I tried locking it up, but I found I couldn't rest without it in
my pocket. I don't know why. And I don't seem able to make up my mind.'

'Then trust mine,' said Gandalf. 'It is quite made up. Go away and
leave it behind. Stop possessing it. Give it to Frodo, and I will look after
him.'

Bilbo stood for a moment tense and undecided. Presently he sighed. 'All
right,' he said with an effort. I will.' Then he shrugged his shoulders, and
smiled rather ruefully. 'After all that's what this party business was all
about, really: to give away lots of birthday presents, and somehow make it
easier to give it away at the same time. It hasn't made it any easier in the
end, but it would be a pity to waste all my preparations. It would quite
spoil the joke.'

'Indeed it would take away the only point I ever saw in the affair,'
said Gandalf.

'Very well,' said Bilbo, 'it goes to Frodo with all the rest.' He drew
a deep breath. 'And now I really must be starting, or somebody else will
catch me. I have said good-bye, and I couldn't bear to do it all over
again.' He picked up his bag and moved to the door.

'You have still got the ring in your pocket,' said the wizard. 'Well,
so I have!' cried Bilbo. 'And my will and all the other documents too. You
had better take it and deliver it for me. That will be safest.'




'No, don’t give the ring to me,' said Gandalf. 'Put it on the
mantelpiece. It will be safe enough there, till Frodo comes. I shall wait
for him.'

Bilbo took out the envelope, but just as he was about to set it by the
clock, his hand jerked back, and the packet fell on the floor. Before he
could pick it up, the wizard stooped and seized it and set it in its place.

A spasm of anger passed swiftly over the hobbit's face again. Suddenly it
gave way to a look of relief and a laugh. 'Well, that's that,' he said. 'Now
I'm off!'

They went out into the hall. Bilbo chose his favourite stick from the
stand; then he whistled. Three dwarves came out of different rooms where
they had been busy.

'Is everything ready?' asked Bilbo. 'Everything packed and labelled?'

'Everything,' they answered.

'Well, let's start then!' He stepped out of the front-door.

It was a fine night, and the black sky was dotted with stars. He looked
up, sniffing the air. 'What fun! What fun to be off again, off on the Road
with dwarves ! This is what I have really been longing for, for years !
Good-bye! ' he said, looking at his old home and bowing to the door.
'Good-bye, Gandalf!'

'Good-bye, for the present, Bilbo. Take care of yourself! You are old
enough, and perhaps wise enough.'

'Take care! I don't care. Don't you worry about me! I am as happy now
as I have ever been, and that is saying a great deal. But the time has come.

I am being swept off my feet at last,' he added, and then in a low voice, as
if to himself, he sang softly in the dark:

The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet.

And whither then? I cannot say.

He paused, silent for a moment. Then without another word he turned
away from the lights and voices in the fields and tents, and followed by his
three companions went round into his garden, and trotted down the long




sloping path. He jumped over a low place in the hedge at the bottom, and
took to the meadows, passing into the night like a rustle of wind in the
grass.

Gandalf remained for a while staring after him into the darkness.
’Goodbye, my dear Bilbo - until our next meeting!' he said softly and went
back indoors.

Frodo came in soon afterwards, and found him sitting in the dark, deep
in thought. 'Has he gone?' he asked.

'Yes,' answered Gandalf, 'he has gone at last.'

' I wish - 1 mean, I hoped until this evening that it was only a joke,'
said Frodo. 'But I knew in my heart that he really meant to go. He always
used to joke about serious things. I wish I had come back sooner, just to
see him off.'

I think really he preferred slipping off quietly in the end,' said
Gandalf. 'Don't be too troubled. He'll be all right - now. He left a packet
for you. There it is!'

Frodo took the envelope from the mantelpiece, and glanced at it, but
did not open it.

'You'll find his will and all the other documents in there, I think,'
said the wizard. 'You are the master of Bag End now. And also, I fancy,
you'll find a golden ring.'

'The ring!' exclaimed Frodo. 'Has he left me that? I wonder why. Still,
it may be useful.'

'It may, and it may not,' said Gandalf. 'I should not make use of it,
if I were you. But keep it secret, and keep it safe! Now I am going to bed.'

As master of Bag End Frodo felt it his painful duty to say good-bye to
the guests. Rumours of strange events had by now spread all over the field,
but Frodo would only say no doubt everything will be cleared up in the
morning. About midnight carriages came for the important folk. One by one
they rolled away, filled with full but very unsatisfied hobbits. Gardeners
came by arrangement, and removed in wheel-barrows those that had
inadvertently remained behind.

Night slowly passed. The sun rose. The hobbits rose rather later.
Morning went on. People came and began (by orders) to clear away the
pavilions and the tables and the chairs, and the spoons and knives and
bottles and plates, and the lanterns, and the flowering shrubs in boxes, and
the crumbs and cracker -paper, the forgotten bags and gloves and




handkerchiefs, and the uneaten food (a very small item). Then a number of
other people came (without orders): Bagginses, and Boffins, and Bolgers, and
Tooks, and other guests that lived or were staying near. By mid-day, when
even the best-fed were out and about again, there was a large crowd at Bag
End, uninvited but not unexpected.

Frodo was waiting on the step, smiling, but looking rather tired and
worried. He welcomed all the callers, but he had not much more to say than
before. His reply to all inquiries was simply this: 'Mr. Bilbo Baggins has
gone away; as far as I know, for good.' Some of the visitors he invited to
come inside, as Bilbo had left 'messages' for them.

Inside in the hall there was piled a large assortment of packages and
parcels and small articles of furniture. On every item there was a label
tied. There were several labels of this sort:

For ADELARD TOOK, for his VERY OWN, from Bilbo, on an umbrella.
Adelard

had carried off many unlabelled ones.

For DORA BAGGINS in memory of a LONG correspondence, with love
from

Bilbo, on a large waste-paper basket. Dora was Drogo's sister and the eldest
surviving female relative of Bilbo and Frodo; she was ninety-nine, and had
written reams of good advice for more than half a century.

For MILO BURROWS, hoping it will be useful, from B.B., on a gold pen
and ink-bottle. Milo never answered letters.

For ANGELICA'S use, from Uncle Bilbo, on a round convex mirror. She
was

a young Baggins, and too obviously considered her face shapely.

For the collection of HUGO BRACEGIRDLE, from a contributor, on an
(empty) book -case. Hugo was a great borrower of books, and worse than usual
at returning them.

For LOBELIA SACKVILLE-BAGGINS, as a PRESENT, on a case of
silver

spoons. Bilbo believed that she had acquired a good many of his spoons,
while he was away on his former journey. Fobelia knew that quite well. When
she arrived later in the day, she took the point at once, but she also took
the spoons.

This is only a small selection of the assembled presents. Bilbo's
residence had got rather cluttered up with things in the course of his long




life. It was a tendency of hobbit-holes to get cluttered up: for which the
custom of giving so many birthday-presents was largely responsible. Not, of
course, that the birthday-presents were always new, there were one or two
old mathoms of forgotten uses that had circulated all around the district;
but Bilbo had usually given new presents, and kept those that he received.
The old hole was now being cleared a little.

Every one of the various parting gifts had labels, written out
personally by Bilbo, and several had some point, or some joke. But, of
course, most of the things were given where they would be wanted and
welcome. The poorer hobbits, and especially those of Bagshot Row, did very
well. Old Gaffer Gamgee got two sacks of potatoes, a new spade, a woollen
waistcoat, and a bottle of ointment for creaking joints. Old Rory
Brandybuck, in return for much hospitality, got a dozen bottles of Old
Winyards: a strong red wine from the Southfarthing, and now quite mature, as
it had been laid down by Bilbo's father. Rory quite forgave Bilbo, and voted
him a capital fellow after the first bottle.

There was plenty of everything left for Frodo. And, of course, all the
chief treasures, as well as the books, pictures, and more than enough
furniture, were left in his possession. There was, however, no sign nor
mention of money or jewellery: not a penny -piece or a glass bead was given
away.

Frodo had a very trying time that afternoon. A false rumour that the
whole household was being distributed free spread like wildfire; and before
long the place was packed with people who had no business there, but could
not be kept out. Fabels got torn off and mixed, and quarrels broke out. Some
people tried to do swaps and deals in the hall; and others tried to make off
with minor items not addressed to them, or with anything that seemed
unwanted or unwatched. The road to the gate was blocked with barrows and
handcarts.

In the middle of the commotion the Sackville-Bagginses arrived. Frodo
had retired for a while and left his friend Merry Brandybuck to keep an eye
on things. When Otho loudly demanded to see Frodo, Merry bowed politely.

'He is indisposed,' he said. 'He is resting.'

'Hiding, you mean,' said Fobelia. 'Anyway we want to see him and we
mean to see him. Just go and tell him so!'

Merry left them a long while in the hall, and they had time to discover
their parting gift of spoons. It did not improve their tempers. Eventually




they were shown into the study. Frodo was sitting at a table with a lot of
papers in front of him. He looked indisposed - to see Sackville-Bagginses at
any rate; and he stood up, fidgeting with something in his pocket. But he
spoke quite politely.

The Sackville-Bagginses were rather offensive. They began by offering
him bad bargain-prices (as between friends) for various valuable and
unlabelled things. When Frodo replied that only the things specially
directed by Bilbo were being given away, they said the whole affair was very
fishy.

'Only one thing is clear to me,' said Otho, 'and that is that you are
doing exceedingly well out of it. I insist on seeing the will.'

Otho would have been Bilbo's heir, but for the adoption of Frodo. He
read the will carefully and snorted. It was, unfortunately, very clear and
correct (according to the legal customs of hobbits, which demand among other
things seven signatures of witnesses in red ink).

'Foiled again!' he said to his wife. 'And after waiting sixty years.

Spoons? Fiddlesticks!' He snapped his fingers under Frodo's nose and slumped
off. But Lobelia was not so easily got rid of. A little later Frodo came out
of the study to see how things were going on and found her still about the
place, investigating nooks and comers and tapping the floors. He escorted
her firmly off the premises, after he had relieved her of several small (but
rather valuable) articles that had somehow fallen inside her umbrella. Her
face looked as if she was in the throes of thinking out a really crushing
parting remark; but all she found to say, turning round on the step, was:

'You'll live to regret it, young fellow! Why didn't you go too? You
don't belong here; you're no Baggins - you - you're a Brandybuck!'

'Did you hear that, Merry? That was an insult, if you like,' said Frodo
as he shut the door on her.

'It was a compliment,' said Merry Brandybuck, 'and so, of course, not
true.'

Then they went round the hole, and evicted three young hobbits (two
Boffins and a Bolger) who were knocking holes in the walls of one of the
cellars. Frodo also had a tussle with young Sancho Proudfoot (old Odo
Proudfoot's grandson), who had begun an excavation in the larger pantry,
where he thought there was an echo. The legend of Bilbo's gold excited both
curiosity and hope; for legendary gold (mysteriously obtained, if not
positively ill-gotten), is, as every one knows, any one's for the finding




-unless the search is interrupted.

When he had overcome Sancho and pushed him out, Frodo collapsed on
chair in the hall. It's time to close the shop, Merry,' he said. 'Lock the
door, and don’t open it to anyone today, not even if they bring a battering
ram.’ Then he went to revive himself with a belated cup of tea.

He had hardly sat down, when there came a soft knock at the front-door.
'Lobelia again most likely,' he thought. 'She must have thought of something
really nasty, and have come back again to say it. It can wait.'

He went on with his tea. The knock was repeated, much louder, but he
took no notice. Suddenly the wizard's head appeared at the window.

'If you don't let me in, Frodo, I shall blow your door right down your
hole and out through the hill,' he said.

'My dear Gandalf! Half a minute!' cried Frodo, running out of the room
to the door. 'Come in! Come in! I thought it was Lobelia.'

'Then I forgive you. But I saw her some time ago, driving a pony-trap
towards Bywater with a face that would have curdled new milk.'

'She had already nearly curdled me. Honestly, I nearly tried on Bilbo's
ring. I longed to disappear.'

'Don't do that!' said Gandalf, sitting down. 'Do be careful of that
ring, Frodo ! In fact, it is partly about that that I have come to say a last
word.'

'Well, what about it?'

'What do you know already?'

'Only what Bilbo told me. I have heard his story: how he found it, and
how he used it: on his journey, I mean.'

'Which story, I wonder,' said Gandalf.

'Oh, not what he told the dwarves and put in his book,' said Frodo. 'He
told me the true story soon after I came to live here. He said you had
pestered him till he told you, so I had better know too. "No secrets between
us, Frodo," he said; "but they are not to go any further. It's mine
anyway.'"

'That's interesting,' said Gandalf. 'Well, what did you think of it
all?'

'If you mean, inventing all that about a "present", well, I thought the
true story much more likely, and I couldn't see the point of altering it at
all. It was very unlike Bilbo to do so, anyway; and I thought it rather
odd.'




'So did I. But odd things may happen to people that have such treasures
- if they use them. Let it be a warning to you to be very careful with it.

It may have other powers than just making you vanish when you wish to.'

'I don't understand,' said Frodo.

'Neither do I,' answered the wizard. 'I have merely begun to wonder
about the ring, especially since last night. No need to worry. But if you
take my advice you will use it very seldom, or not at all. At least I beg
you not to use it in any way that will cause talk or rouse suspicion. I say
again: keep it safe, and keep it secret!'

'You are very mysterious! What are you afraid of?'

'I am not certain, so I will say no more. I may be able to tell you
something when I come back. I am going off at once: so this is good-bye for
the present.' He got up.

'At once!' cried Frodo. 'Why, I thought you were staying on for at
least a week. I was looking forward to your help.'

'I did mean to - but I have had to change my mind. I may be away for a
good while; but I'll come and see you again, as soon as I can. Expect me
when you see me! I shall slip in quietly. I shan't often be visiting the
Shire openly again. I find that I have become rather unpopular. They say I
am a nuisance and a disturber of the peace. Some people are actually
accusing me of spiriting Bilbo away, or worse. If you want to know, there is
supposed to be a plot between you and me to get hold of his wealth.'

'Some people!' exclaimed Frodo. 'You mean Otho and Lobelia. How
abominable! I would give them Bag End and everything else, if I could get
Bilbo back and go off tramping in the country with him. I love the Shire.
But I begin to wish, somehow, that I had gone too. I wonder if I shall ever
see him again.'

'So do I,' said Gandalf. 'And I wonder many other things. Good-bye now!
Take care of yourself! Lookout for me, especially at unlikely times !
Good-bye!'

Frodo saw him to the door. He gave a final wave of his hand, and walked
off at a surprising pace; but Frodo thought the old wizard looked unusually
bent, almost as if he was carrying a great weight. The evening was closing
in, and his cloaked figure quickly vanished into the twilight. Frodo did not
see him again for a long time.