[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger had just put her hand to knob on the kitchen’s door when Wren came barreling through. Seeming dazed, the girl stumbled back and looked about through tear-swollen eyes. With a sob, Wren hurtled again toward Ginger and clasped her arms about the Hobbit tightly. For her part, the twice-surprised Hobbit clasped the girl’s now sobbing form to her in as comforting a way as she might.

‘Oh, my goodness,’ Ginger said, laying head close against Wren’s as she patted her softly on the back. ‘What’s all this?’ She stepped back, holding the girl at arms’ length as she searched her face for answers. ‘It’s not that old nosey-parker, Miz Rosebank, is it? Her and her wanting to tell your old landlord where you and Tim have got off to . . . is that what’s got you bothered? You know we won’t let anyone bother you two, if that’s what’s got you worried.’ It was a big thing to promise, she thought, but Cook would take care of it, she was sure.

She led Wren over to the table and sat her down in one of the chairs. Ginger fetched her a clean, wet washrag and linen dishtowel for her face; then, brought a small pitcher of cold cider and two mugs back to the table. Sitting down near the girl, she took the towel and wiped away the rest of the wetness.

‘There now – that’s my bright eyed beauty,’ she said, using a phrase her Gammer had used on her when she was little and the tears had taken her. She put the first two fingers of her right hand beneath the girl’s chin and lifted her face up for a smiling inspection. Offering Wren a small mug of cider, Ginger picked up her own cup and took a swallow. ‘Or is there something else has put a burr under your blanket. Someone else as has upset you?’ She sat back a little, giving Wren some space to in which to answer.