The Lark and the Lost Key (A Tale of the Old Took)

The Lark and the Lost Key (A Tale of the Old Took)

These were the heavy hours of summer, late in the day when the sun still lingered over the Tower Hills like a guest too involved in his own conversation to notice he's overstayed his welcome. It was too hot even for a pipe, which is saying something in the Shire. Stalls closed. Crops languished in the fields. The stock settled low in the meadows. Farmers and tradesmen, wives and workers all sought the cool seats. Even the children, who seemed like crops themselves in the way they turned heat and light into laughter and play, retreated beneath the oaks and elms to wait for dusk.

These were the hours when Mrs. Bungo Baggins found the design of hobbit holes most wanting, even one as magnificent as Bag End. They simply resisted all drafts. The doors and windows might be thrown wide, but with them all on one side and the hill on the other, the air refused any invitation to enter. It sat out there like a stubborn child while she stood before the window, just out of reach of the light, wondering how one could store a barrelful of snow for use in summer.

A hat flashed past her, moving so quickly she thought it might have been a mirage. A moment later feet and stick thudded in her foyer without so much as a hello. She hurried down the hall to find her father dabbing his brow with a hankerchief.

"You shouldn't be out in this heat," she said. "At least you shouldn't be rushing."

"I wasn't rushing, Bella," the Old Took said, "I was eluding. One of your neighbors, Mr. Brownlock, has been pestering me about some business, and having nothing to report and no wish to be further pestered, I took a less direct way to your door." Indeed he had climbed the side of The Hill and broken through her hedge rather than take the road. 

As Thain of the Shire, Gerontius Took was in charge of defense. Because the Shire was endangered only by the stray bear or wolf, and these were handled by the Bounders, the Old Took had no real duties except for maintaining his dignity and that meant the dignity of his fellow hobbits. He was seen to have more authority than the Mayor, but was because his home was more centrally located. Being more easily found, he was just that. All the time. An afternoon walk, a stroll to the tavern, a pipe on his porch, no moment of peace allowed him to escape someone's pleading. He was glad hobbits had little spirit to travel by night. Otherwise, he'd never get any sleep.

"I'm afraid I agree with Mr. Brownlock," Bella said.  "We do need steetlamps on the road leading up to Bagshot Row. One trip in the dark, and you could tumble all the way to the mill."

"Then get yourself some lanterns, some oil, and some children to line the road." The Old Took's cheeks grew redder. "Speaking of children--" he tapped his walking stick on the floor--"where is my grandson?"

Bella, knowing this mood and, being a good hostess, knowing how to relieve a room of it, took him by the harm. "He's in the pantry," she said. "Come, and I'll get you a mug of water while you speak with him."

"Why shouldn't the boy come to me?" he said gruffly. He had been feeling very Tookish, as they say, having gotten past Brownlock, and now his daughter's comments had made him feel very Thainish.

"Because he's on guard." She led him through the hole.

"Against what, maggots storming the hams? An invasion of mold?"

"No. Goblins. He's taken it into his head that there's a secret door in the back wall of the pantry that goblins might sneak through."

Bella saw her father's original mood return. She thought it was because this sort of imagination pleased him. He saw her think this and didn't disabuse her.

She pointed him into the pantry and went to get the water. The Old Took found Bilbo, twelve-years-old and so scrawny he might be mistaken for goblin himself, sitting on a stool and staring at the back wall. The Old Took leaned over his shoulder and stared with him.