It's odd he came back after so long away. But there was trouble here right enough, and the masters Meriadoc and Pippin made sure it was over right quick. They call themselves Knights, would you believe. Wear armour with golden suns on them, Knights of the radiant garland, or something like that.

Even young Sam put up a good fight when they returned, telling Ted Sandyman a few things he right deserved. He was thrilled to see everything set right. Does worry about his master, mind you.

Mr. Frodo, he's gone all pale and quiet, like he's sickening with something. I asked Sam about it, but he shut up tight as a chest of drawers. I primed the others with ale, and got a bit out of 'em. Mr. Frodo, he gave a fine gift to this Lady and she wanted to reward him. Can't see what a plain hobbit could offer a sorceress, Baggins or no. Frodo spoke of it once. Offered freely, he said. A gift. Not taken in violence or coercion. Not in an act of evil. Thus was it given. Whatever It was.

He did say she greatly desired it.

I reckon as Sam would have done anything to keep him safe. Away from blades and goblins, and the terrible fires he spoke of. But Mr. Frodo talked like it was his fault.

"I have paid a heavy price for you, Sam. Your safety."

"You've paid more 'n enough. I couldn't a born it, if you'd gone on to that place without me."

The Shire's flourishin', anyhow, and the harvest this year – ah, it's a sight! Nearwise uncanny. Beautiful grain, apples burstin' with juice, and malt that near makes you fall down flat, it's that fine. Never saw fatter strawberries. And coming right early this season.

There are those funny trees that keep sproutin' up. Pretty they are, but not Shire-like. No, I'll take a good oak any day. Sam got hot under the collar when I told him so, but it's been a while since I've seen him fry up chips for the Master.

Here, try this ale. Powerful, eh? I sort of prefer my own home brew from two years back. Simpler, it is. Not like that Elvish stuff. Miruvor? We dunno's what to call it. Seems to be about oftener and oftener.

That's another thing. It's not that someone's setting new laws, the Mayor wouldn't have it, but they've changed all the same. The oddest was that we was to cut no living wood. Sam was the one that started that. Said he didn't feel right doing it no more, so we have to go gather the dead stuff that's fallen. If you go short, it's borrow off your neighbour. There's some that even go looking for it after dark, and in other folks' woodpiles. Winter will be harder for that, I said, but Sam argued. Winter, he said! Ain't going to be no winter we should have to worry about. The Lady'll take care of things. Well Samwise, said I, ain't never heard of no queen being able to order the seasons to her liking. He got all red-faced. Spluttered something about Elvish magic, and that I didn't know what I was talking about.

Sometimes he says more things have to grow. Bare fields aren't as fine as trees. Daft. Where are we supposed to grow our food, then, I asked. "Won't need to," Sam said, and Mr. Frodo said dreamily, "No, there'll be an abundance for a long time to come."

That Gandalf fellow isn't around any more. He came back once from some place, Riverdell? Talked to Mr. Frodo awhile. Some Man they spoke of too, when they thought I wasn't listening. Sam and the young Knights were muttering over it. They liked him, they said, but he wasn't aiming to serve the Lady, and that bothered them, I can tell you. Dark talk it was too, and Mr. Frodo's powerful torn by it.

You see, some of the younger hobbits are joining Radiant Garland. The impressionable sorts, who look up to the young masters. And they take up against the older folk. Tain't right.

There's other trees too. Tall, and dark, like it seems they'll be marching around us. I know! Trees don't walk, nor talk. But there's odd things on our borders, you mark my words. The ground fair shakes in the night sometimes. Uncanny.

Dark shadows after the twilight. The dogs bark and the geese shriek and flap. And the trees, stirring in the night. Sometimes you feel surrounded-like. The sky's a radiant golden garland.

But sip up, my friend, and don't look so down. Likely it'll turn out right in the end, with a great queen to rule us.

There ain't any need to despair.