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The bargain was sealed with a last mug of ale before the four men went out to the back yard outside the Inn’s kitchen door. Derufin grinned at Anyopa as Benat and Hob began to split and stack wood. ‘They’ll have it done in a trice,’ he whispered as he passed by with an armload of wood for the woodshed. ‘A round of Dwarven spirits is small price to pay for a little rest for ourselves this afternoon.’
He called out a word of challenge to the Hobbit and the Beorning, saying what laggards they were, and how two mere men were going to beat them at this contest . . .
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’
– Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age'
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