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Old Thistle Bracegirdle had not felt like cooking supper for herself this night, and so had decided to stop by the Green Dragon, a reputable inn by all accounts. She was hungry, and feeling rather grumpy. Here she had been waiting, and yet no one had noticed her or asked if she might like something to eat. Hmph! Her interest was caught by the young lass and her brother puzzling over the sign, but she hung in the background, unnoticed. When the hobbit server had stopped to read the sign out loud for them, Thistle strained her ears to hear how it read. Her ire grew as she heard what was being said. Reading, 'riting, 'rithmatic... Elven lore and tales... Hmph! What did hobbit lasses and lads need to learn such outlandish things for? Better they were off learning from and helping their Mas and Pas about cooking and gardening and farming and other sensible activities.
As the excited youngsters bounded away from the sign (Little’uns are so boisterous these days), Thistle hobbled up to get a look at it for herself, though she could not read a word of it. Looks like little more than chickenscratch, she thought. Now why does anyone need to learn to make the little marks beyond 'ritin their name? She scowled at the sign and thumped her wooden cane irratably on the floor. Didn't this Miz Bella have anything better to do with her time?
One of the hobbit maids came by (So someone finally notices me!). “Is something the matter, ma’am?”
“I should say so!” stated Thistle loudly. “What kind of nonsense is this, anyway? What do our lads and lasses need to be learning all this for? Elven lore and tales of dragons - hmph! Ninety-six years I’ve lived without knowing more letters than how to write my name! They’d be better off helping out their folks at home - learning to cook and work in the garden. Not good for hobbits to learn too much about the outside world. Get queer in the head, they do!”
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