Asphodel reeled as her father yanked her back across the bar room and sat her forcefully down in her chair. On her right side, Hanna quickly turned her gaze upon her glass of milk and pretended not to notice that her older sister was about to get into big trouble.
"You disobeyed me, young lady," said Halfred in a chilly voice. "What did I say? I told you not to get involved with the Big Folk, didn't I? What kind of example are you going to set for Hanna and Marigold? You're almost thirty-three years old, Asphodel! I expect better of you."
"But," Asphodel began, but the sentence died on her tounge when she saw that across the room, the sick lady was breathing again, though still unconcious. "She'll probably be revived soon," thought Asphodel, "no thanks to you. What can a little hobbit girl to for any of the Big Folk, anyhow?" Perhaps her father was right. As he once had said to one of his friends, " If the Maker of Middle Earth decided to give them too much height, he obviously meant for them to look out for themselves and their own kind. I don't see none of them breaking their high and mighty necks to help us Shire Folk."
Asphodel looked up at her father. Halfred had calmed down a bit, and was sucking on his long, wooden pipe with relish as the white, fragrant smoke rose into the air. Asphodel knew a bit about the leaves of pipe-weed. Her father made his living growing small fields of Longbottom Leaf and Old Toby on their farm in the Southfarthing. She remebered spending long summer days with Hanna running down the long isles of plant, and helping their father pick the first fragrant, ripe leaves and put them into baskets. It was a good living; more than enough to support a good sized family, though the Hamfasts were not anywhere near the affluence of the old Took or Brandybuck families.
<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:57 PM January 25, 2004: Message edited by: Linnahiril Tinnufinwen ]
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