[Primrose Bolger]

Breakfast was done; the dishes all cleared away and washed up. Cook was busy with her task . . . the layered cake. And there, on the other side of the kitchen was Miss Zimzi, stacking the platters to be used for the slices of ham and cheese. Ginger busied herself getting together what she needed for her own cookie making. From the corner of her eye she watched Miss Zimzi. She was pretty, in a quiet sort of way. And graceful, she thought. She had a quick smile for those about her. Derufin certainly seemed to like her quite a lot, Ginger thought. The Hobbit’s eye lingered on the woman, following her movements. She ducked her head away, blushing, as Zimzi caught her gaze, and smiled.

‘Quit your gawking, Ginger!’ she told herself firmly, drawing the small bag of flour toward her. ‘There’ll be time enough to talk with her when we’re done here.’ She picked up a cup and began measuring the flour into the big crockery bowl. Her hand reached for the tablespoon she’d set out, to measure in the leavening, but only the bare wood of the table met her fingers. She turned to look at the place where she’d put it. Empty . . .

‘I saw one of the servers borrow it, when you’d gone to get the sugar,’ came the voice from behind her. ‘Here, take one of mine. I can always get another one when it’s time to put the mustard in the little pots . . .’