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The old hobbit played a mean tin whistle.
Caity watched and listened with rapt attention from her seat on the grass. All signs of age seemed to have left him; he acted as young as any lad in the band. His fingers flew over the whistle as he played between verses.
And it's oh dear me! How will it be . . .
if I die an Old Maid in the Garret?
They finished the song and bowed to those listening, who applauded. Caity jumped up and clapped her hands. "One minute -- I have to meet the whistle player!"
She climbed up onto the state and approached him. He was smiling and laughing with the other players, who were congratulating him on his singing and playing.
"Good morning, sir," she said, smiling at him.
"Morning, lass! Did you like the song we played?"
"I loved it," she responded, "especially your whistle playing. Will you be joining us in the band tonight?"
"Ah, so you're in the band?" he said. "Well, I certainly hope to. What is it you play here? Aha, I think I know." He gave a mischievous smile uncharacteristic of an older hobbit. "I'll bet you've got a lovely singing voice, eh?"
She blushed. "I'd hardly think so, sir. No, I play the whistle as well, and also the flute. That's why I admired your little performance so much. Why, I've never heard anyone play such a spirited tin whistle before."
He smiled reminiscently. "Brought me right back to how things used to be back when I was a lad, and everyone would gather round and listen... oh, never mind me, I'm just carrying on now, Miss...?"
"Caity Brandybuck, sir," she told him. "It'll be a pleasure to have you in our group tonight."
"Falco Headstrong," he said courteously. "And, likewise."
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