[Arry]

“Is all of the Shire as fine as here?”

Derufin, Andwise noted, was distracted at the sight of a small cart heading west down the road toward Hobbiton. Merrimac, the stableboy, could be seen driving the trap, but in the seat next to him sat a lady who could but barely be seen. “Zimzi?” said Derufin, rising from his place at the table. The man excused himself hastily and went into the kitchen, Andwise supposed, to inquire where she had gone.

The Hobbit, pushing away his empty bowl of stew and waving off the serving girl’s offer of blackberry tart, gave a satisfied sigh and decided to answer Jinniver’s question himself. He took out his pouch of Southern Star and offered it to the woman then filled his own pipe.

“Well, Mistress Cornthrift,’ he began, tamping down the pipeweed as he did so. “There’s some as say this is the heart of the Shire, and none can be found as is finer than here. But I expect they're the good folk that have always lived around these parts. I’ve taken jobs in other parts of the Farthings and found the country side and its folk much as they are here. Some shine out like new silver pennies, all fair in temper and hands out to help a neighbor. Others are the bad pennies, so to speak. Looking to turn the advantage to themselves if they can. Lucky us though, there’s a sight more of the shiny pennies than the tarnished!” He took a draw on his now lit pipe. “Much like the rest of the world, I expect. Though I don’t plan to find out for myself.”

“What about you? From Bree I heard. What brings you so far afield from home?”

Andwise stopped Buttercup as she passed with the cider. “A wee bit before we’re back to work, if you don’t mind, Miss.”