[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger bobbed a small curtsy to the Hobbit. ‘Oh, my pleasure, sir! Cook will be happy, I’m sure, to know her stew stands in the company of your Ma’s. But who shall I say has given his compliments?’ The Hobbit wiped a trace of jam from his chin and laughed. ‘Tolly,’ he said in reply to her question. ‘Tolly Greenhand of Greenholm, lass.’ She left him to the rest of his meal, saying in parting that if he really wanted to give his compliments he would call for another bowl of stew. ‘Oh, and don’t forget, there’s apple cobbler to think on for dessert. Made by my own hand,’ she added blushing a bit at her boldness. ‘And clotted cream to go with it.’

She hurried off, then, leaving the happy fellow to consider how he might work in both her suggestions. Hands raised and fingers crooked at her as she passed among the tables. Both her pitchers of cider were soon down to the dregs. She was just making her way back to the bar for a refill, when a large table of local lads called her over, clanking their mugs together as they called for another round. Ginger held up her pitchers, shrugging her shoulders as she mouthed to the noisy crowd that they were empty. They hooted and laughed saying she’d best get back to them soon. ‘Cold cider and a pretty face to serve it!’ called out one of them, causing her cheeks to color at the cheeky words, and the bold looks of the others.

From behind her, came a familiar voice, a welcome voice. ‘Here, now, lads! I’ve plenty of cider to fill your mugs!’ The faces of the Hobbits fell as Ferdy stepped up to the table, then one by one cracked into grins and laughter as one of the lads called out in a resigned manner. ‘You’re no beauty, though. Ah, well, the drink will have to do.’

Ginger stammered out a whispered thanks as Ferdy passed near her, filling mugs . . .