[Arry]

He liked the way she’d slipped him a shy smile as she whispered her thanks. Her nose crinkled at the bridge as she did so and her eyes crinkled up, too at the outer edges. What a sweet face she has he thought to himself, watching her walk back toward the kitchen.

Two or three of the thirstier lads at the table cleared their throats and scraped their empty mugs along the surface of the oak table. One of them, following along with Ferdy’s gaze, was about to comment on what a pretty thing she was to look at, when he saw the look in the Ferdy’s eye as he turned back to pour the cider. Others round the table raised their brows and nodded their heads knowingly. ‘See you at the dance, then, shall we, Ferdy?’ winking at him as the golden stream flowed into his mug.

‘Well, I believe you will,’ returned Ferdy, topping the last lad’s mug.

‘And not with a pitcher in your hand, either, if I have the right of it,’ the other continued. He raised his mug to Ferdy, who acknowledged the truth of the Hobbit’s statement with a grin. The others at the table cried out in a merry manner, ‘Hear! Hear!’ and drank deep to their fortunate fellow.

Ferdy laughed outright and making a mock bow, went back to the bar to refill his pitchers.