[Arry]

Ferdy found the mop and began cleaning up the spilled cider. The momentary scrutiny of the patrons in the Inn had died away, and most had gone back to conversations with their tablemates. The cider splattered Hobbit, a Master Rowley Chubb of Girdley Island, had come back out, dressed in a clean dry outfit. Ferdy ducked his head down to avoid the fellow’s glance toward him. He was surprised when the Hobbit came over to him, saying that now as he considered it, he saw it was just a foolish accident on Ferdy’s part . . . ‘and haven’t we all done foolish things,lad,’ he said with a good-natured wink, ‘when we first start courtin’, eh?’

Again, Ferdy stood gawping at the man, wondering what sort of wizardry this fellow had to have sussed out the particulars of the situation. But Rowley simply clapped him on the shoulder and nodded toward the kitchen’s door, where Cook’s face could just be seen withdrawing . . .