Now, now, now, Mrs. B. You needn't call up the entire establishment of Staddle and we don't need our living room full of the Staddle Tale and Gossip Society. If there's trouble afoot, why, why should we let them know we know they're here? No, no, my dear, let us move about with some stealth. Petunia and Peony, so good of you to come so quickly to lend an ear and tongue, but will you be off now to say a little 'All's well' to all concerned? Let's pretend no one is missing.
Mrs. Broadbelt's fellow gossips could hardly say no to such a sound request, and so the intrepid Peony and Petunia bid her adieu.
Our young hobbit visitor here, young what's your name, you can go knock on doors to see if ought has been heard. Let me slip out the back way to begin some quiet investigations. These young lads can get some wild ideas in their heads once they're away from home.
The name's Hob, Mr. Broadbelt. Hob Heathertoes. And yes, I shall quietly inquire about my friend. Erling Greenhands is a good lad and wouldn't just run off willy-nilly. You shall see I am right.
With that retort, Hob went off to knock on every door. It was a difficult task for the diffident hobbit, for he felt he could not quite come right out and say Erling was missing. Consequently, at each door to every smial, he stood upon some ceremony and engaged in much smiling and admiring and nodding and yesing, Marcho's idea was top form, and could you please say possibly if any strange hobbit has been heard of and other such hospitable talk as the missuses of each smial would engage in. And he could feel, at his back, Peony and Petunia watching him travel from door to door as they peeked out their window. Lucky for him that at the fourth door, just as he was about to knock, it flew open and out ensued just the hobbit he was looking for.
[ September 12, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]
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I’ll sing his roots off. I’ll sing a wind up and blow leaf and branch away.
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