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Jinniver attached a sturdy rope to Nutkin’s harness and pulled at the knots to make sure they would not come undone. Ferrin and the other hobbit lads had tied the other end of the rope around the tree stump and had shovelled some of the soil out from around it. They stood behind the stump, ready to guide it out of the ground when the horse pulled away.
There was a moment’s silence as Jinniver patted her horse and started to beckon him forwards. With each step the rope became less slack, until it was taught and the horse started to feel the weight behind him. Jinniver spoke reassuringly to him and urged him on, and the hobbits pushed on the tree stump in a vain attempt to help the horse shift it. The stump was too heavy for several men to move, let alone a group of hobbit lads. The heavy horse should have been able to move it without any difficulties, and yet nothing happened. Nutkin shook his head in annoyance and refused to move any further; the load was too unyielding for him.
He snorted and instead turned his attention to some sweet smelling grass growing underneath the bushes nearby. Jinniver gave a great sigh and went across to the flower bed to see what the problem might be. Stooping down low to the side of the stump, she saw that a particularly thick root was still buried in the soil.
“Look, we missed this one,” she said to the hobbits. “See how thick it is just above the soil, it must be incredibly long. We’ll have to dig some more.” Taking up a shovel, she started the job, working quickly. Soil flew off the shovel into the air behind her, landing on Ferrin’s feet.
“Now don’t be burying me,” he said boldly, but with a laugh in his voice. He took up a shovel and started to dig. “Let us help and you won’t have to work so fast. Why, we aren’t going after treasure here.”
Jinniver’s pace slackened a little, but the soil was moved swiftly with more than one pair of hands to do the work. The root was indeed long, and a small trench appeared in the border before it had all been uncovered. They stood a moment, leaning across the stump, looking at the gnarly, tough remains of the old tree, feeling satisfied with their work. The silence was broken by Ferrin. “Well, I would say that was the root of the problem.”
This provoked groans and cries from the other hobbits, and Jinniver shook her head, laughing. “I’ll go back to Nutkin and get him moving then, and leave you to your terrible jokes.” But before she had moved, an unearthly screeching noise suddenly erupted from the bushes near the horse, who added to the racket by whinnying in fright. He jumped up when a whirlwind of leaves streaked out of the bushes. Two cats, shrieking at one another in anger, raced from the undergrowth, locked in a fight. The old horse only saw an eight-legged creature, all teeth and fur, and with a neigh, he bolted forwards to get out of the way.
Before Jinniver and the hobbits could do anything, the stump was heaved out of the earth with a great jolt and dragged out onto the grass, leaving them face down in the dirt. “Owww!” yelled Ferrin. “Hmph!” was all Jinniver could say; she had fallen further than any of them and her mouth was full of soil. She turned her head and pushed herself up onto her knees, then, resigned to the fact that she was covered in muck, sat back down with a snort of laughter. Ferrin plucked an earthworm from Jinniver’s hair. Wiping soil from their faces and rubbing their sore elbows, the hobbits erupted too.
They all stayed where they were, laughing until they cried, only moving when the second breakfast appeared. Shaking the dirt from their clothes, they headed for the well where a bucket of water was passed around to wash their dirty hands and faces.
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