It was all a bit of a blur for poor Mr. Proudfoot. One moment he had been smoking at a table with the fair-voiced stranger, next thing he knew he was being bustled off into the kitchen. Although not quite understanding what was going on, the pipeweed had put Biffo in a good mood, and he went along with the Hobbit-girl's scheme.
"Idle hands do the devil's work, after all, Miss - we don't mind giving you a hand, do we Mister?"
Biffo rolled up his sleeves and started on a large pile nearest the door. After a few moments he could make out Belle Proudfoot's quick chattery voice from the rest of the babble. He was reminded of the last family supper at his Aunt Petunia's, washing crocks for hours on end with her peering over his shoulder and prodding him with her cane. That was an occasion best forgotten quickly!
Biffo did not talk to the man next to him, preferring to get on with the task at hand. Oblivious for the time being to the man's fair voice, he murmured snatches of a few of his own favourite songs, the ones that had helped him to get through the long hours tobacco-harvesting the last few weeks.
"I'd while away the hours,
Conversing with the flowers,
da dee dee de dee dum..."
It was not long before Biffo noticed the stranger next to him beginning to slump his shoulders. Shortly afterwards the man left, obviously considering his job done. 'Hmmph - hard day's work never hurt noone,' thought Biffo. 'Now where is that Cami girl, anyway? Or that innkeeper lass? Knew I'd get into trouble for thinking she were a Dwarf!"
[ December 30, 2002: Message edited by: doug*platypus ]
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But Gwindor answered: 'The doom lies in yourself, not in your name'.
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