[Arry]

Home before the rain begins . . .

The door swung open at the back of the room, pushed open even further by the quick gust of wind that thrust itself against it. Curls of cold air swept into the entryway, heavy scented with the promise of rain. Andwise leaned back on the door and closed it quickly as the disgruntled calls from those tables nearest the door grew in number. He looked about for Ferdy and the lads, his eyes squinting in the brightness of the room. Ah! There they were. And it looked as if Gil and the others had spent the evening playing and singing for the crowd. Some tall, light haired man stood with them, a smile on his face.

‘Who’s that?’ asked Andwise, flagging down Buttercup as she passed. ‘Man from Rohan,’ she answered. ‘From where Aman hails,’ she went on seeing the blank look on his face. ‘Ah! Horse country!’ returned Andwise, who had consigned that far off and foreign land to a picture of long rolling plains and herds of great horses such as the two Miz Aman had now in the stable. ‘Sings, does he,’ he asked hanging his cloak on a peg by the door.

‘Yes, and quite well too,’ she answered walking with him to where the fellows were talking with the bard. She leaned in close to Andwise, her voice low. ‘Though not as well as Tomlin, I’m thinking.’

Andwise laughed and clucked his tongue at her. ‘Now you be careful of those music makers . . . break a girl’s heart, or so I’ve been told.’

Buttercup sniffed and put on a disbelieving face. ‘Well, we’ll just see about that now, won’t we?’ She grinned, putting her arm through the elder Hobbit’s arm and brought him up to the little group.

‘Twas a lovely song, Hearpwine,’ Gil was saying, breaking the silence that had fallen over the little group. ‘And better yet, we’ve not heard it here before. Makes my cheeks burn to even think we sang for you. Our voices are untrained and rough, as are many of our songs. Nothing fit for great halls such as your King might have. Lucky to have you making his music for him and not us.’

‘Interesting instrument you have there,’ remarked Tomlin, eyeing the man’s harp. ‘I can recall only one or two others who traveled through with one. Though none of them played anywhere near your level. Would you mind if I . . .’

The last of his request was not made, as Andwise approached saying he had brought the cart, and perhaps they had better be going home soon. ‘Going to rain soon,’ he said by way of explanation, and the boys have a ways to go home, as do I.’ He nodded in greeting to the Man. ‘Perhaps they can see you tomorrow, Master Hearpwine . . . though, first off, we’ve a need to finish that shed for Miz Peony as promised.’

‘I’ll just be a moment, Da,’ said Ferdy, heading off in the general direction of the kitchen. ‘Aye,’ Andwise laughed. ‘You’ll be needing to see to Ginger. A moment, no more, if you will. I really am tired this evening.’

The lads packed up their instruments, and gave farewells to their new acquaintance, Hearpwine, and to others of their friends and neighbors at the Inn. Ferdy was back quickly, waving a last good-bye to Ginger. He stopped briefly at Miz Bracegirdle’s table, taking leave of her and Willi, and saying he hoped she had enjoyed the song. To Willi he said he would look for him tomorrow in the late afternoon. ‘You can help us with the puppets,’ he reminded him.

There were grumbles again as the Inn door was open and the chilly wind blew in. Gil was the last one out the door, the worn leather sack that held his concertina slung over his shoulder as he headed to the cart and to home.