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After the tumble, which had left her feeling a little shaken, although she would never have admitted it, and the tears which she had felt rising in her eyes, Jinniver had felt in need of some comfort. Her first thought was to go to see that her faithful cart horse, Nutkin, was no worse off for the fright that the fighting cats had given him. He was safely back at the paddock, feasting on a bale of hay, and he only gave Jinniver the merest flicker of recognition. Regardless, she patted the old horse and then put her arms about his thick neck, more for her own comfort than his. He snorted at the interruption to his eating, and with a sigh, Jinniver patted him and walked away again.
Her spirits were low and she knew that no amount of hard work would shake off her mood. She realised that she needed a little time to herself, and seeing that she wouldn’t find any at the cottage, she decided to take a short walk down into Hobbiton.
***
Her cheeks red with the exercise and fresh air, Jinniver came back up the lane towards the Green Dragon. Her clothes were even dirtier from the dust on the road, but she wasn’t quite so concerned. A few travellers had passed her by who were wearing clothes that she could only describe as filthy. Some of them had looked like fine folk, and she thought to herself that what was good enough for them, must surely be good enough for her.
Even so, the little nagging voice which always told her to make a good impression could not be completely silenced. It was the voice of her mother, a fine woman who was as much of a lady as any woman could be, despite being a farmer’s wife. She had died a long time ago, ill for some years with ‘the pains‘ as she delicately put it. But even when ill, her mother had taken care to be clean and neat, and some had mistaken her for a woman of much higher status. She was always in the back of Jinniver’s mind, telling her to be sensible, to be respectable, to make the best of herself. And this was something which Jinniver, once she was grown and the dark days were over, was all too aware of.
The voice in her mind became quieter as the now familiar sight of the inn came into view. The hobbit lads were up to something, she could see, and this sight cheered her up. Her dark mood had long since melted away. The flowers she had seen in the hedgerows had played no small part in this, and she carried a bunch of them now as she walked back towards the cottage, smiling. Seeing one of the cats who had frightened Nutkin lazing in the sun at the side of the lane, she stopped to tickle his chin and rub his ears, his misdemeanour now forgotten.
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