[Arry]

Two voices warred in Ferdy’s head as he moved about the tables pouring cider for the Inn’s thirsty guests. He’d seen Ginger talking to one of the Big Folk who’d come into the common room and now stood at the bar. She looked so small in comparison to the rough-voiced man, he thought. He wanted to interrupt them . . . to shield her from the stranger. About to step toward them, his other voice halted the forward progress of his foot, chiding him.

‘Interrupt’! Pah, you dunderhead! Barge in’s more like it, isn’t it? His cheeks crimsoned slightly at the admonition he’d given himself. And besides, she’s no wilting flower to need you standing over her night and day. She’ll think you a great ninny for butting in while she’s about her job.

‘Watch it, lad!’ came the loud voice of one of the Hobbits who’d held out his mug to be filled. Lost in thought, his eyes on Ginger and not on his own task, Ferdy had filled the fellow’s cup to the brim and now it poured over and onto the table. ‘You’ve got my breeches wet!’ cried the Hobbit, taking the pitcher from Ferdy’s hands. He stood up from his chair, knocking it over in his haste and began blotting at the sticky cider with his napkin.

Ferdy stood gawping at the now angry Hobbit, his ears burning a bright red as all in the Inn turned to look at the hubbub.