M: At least, it used to be twenty inches. Right about now it would be closer to twelve...nine...eleven...four...uh, yeah.
S: Three, sir.
*crash!*
P: Merry? We're there!
*they walk up to the gate*
Gatekeeper: Eh? 'Oo goes thaya?
Fro: None of your beeswax!
Gatekeep: What's yer business?
Fro: None of your beeswax!
GK: Where ya goin'?
Fro: Beehives, to get beeswax!
GK: You youngun's sure rude!
Fro: BUZZ OFF!
Sam: That's tellin' him, Mr. Frodo!
GK: Fine! Doggone whippersnappers...
*the Hobbits enter warily*
Pip: Where are we going?
Fro: I believe Gandalf told us to go to the "Porcelain Cow", or some such inn. I wasn't listening.
Merry: Eenie Meenie Minie Mo, anyone?
__________________
But all the while I sit and think of times there were before
I listen for returning feet and voices at the door
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