[piosenniel]

Their bellies being full and their thirst somewhat slaked, Frodo and Sam looked about at the wreckage of the party. It looked as if a giant wind had blown mightily across the fields and laid the party-goers flat. 'Like wheat', thought Sam, 'after the pass of a sharp scythe. But not so tidy as that.'

Rolling up his sleeves past the elbows, he stood for a moment surveying the scene. 'Well, Mr. Frodo, there's some bit of work ahead of us to get this party back in order. If you're feeling up to it, let's get started.'

'Right, Sam!' replied Frodo. 'Let's get the guests back on their feet and let them know what happened. If they were having dreams as strange as mine, they'll need some gentle bringing back to here and now.'

'And don't forget Mr. Mithadan, papa.' urged Primrose helping another hobbit up and turning him in the direction of the tables. 'We should find him and see if he needs any help getting to the bottom of this problem!'

'There is nothing like a few sturdy, practical hobbits to set things back in order,' thought the old man in grey as he smiled at the scene below him. Without a sound he turned, and disppeared under the canopy of the trees.