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The sudden chorus of small voices was a bit bewildering to the Bard, who was more used to hearing calls for another song than suggestions that he not sing again – or, worse, that his song had not been the right one for the occasion. He turned to the Boffin boys first. “I’m sure your Da would never punish you for simply singing a song, lads! He may make his living by harvesting the trees of the forest, but sure there are trees that he holds dear and would be loath to see felled. I have heard that there is one tree in the Shire of some magnificence, brought here by the Adventurers, and I am sure that none would dare lay their axe to it!”
Hanson’s eyes grew wide at the very idea. “Sure, there isn’t a hobbit anywhere who would cut down the Party Tree!”
Hearpwine grinned, believing he had scored a point. “Well, then, you see – your Da will understand the song.”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” Reggie said, “but your song wasn’t about the Party Tree, it was about an oak that you loved. I don’t think Mister Boffin and his brothers would care about that!”
Hearpwine opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by Willy. “Well who cares about any old tree! I still say as we should sing a song about food and drink. And hobbits!”
“Well,” Hearpwine began again, “as it happens, I don’t know any songs of the Shire. That is why I am here. You see, my King…” but once again he was interrupted, this time by all the boys at once. At first he tried calling for them to attend to him, but their excited voices drowned him out. He thought back rapidly to his own school days, trying to remember what his master would do when he did not attend to his lessons, but the memory of the switch was a painful one, and he could not imagine inflicting anything like that on a child – let alone a hobbit child, not one of whom was any higher than his knee. Not knowing what else to do, then, he played upon his harp: but it was no tune or melody that filled the room. Instead, it was a jarring and ugly sound that he drew from the strings, discordant and unordered. It pained him deeply to assault his instrument in such a fashion, but it worked for the children fell silent and gazed at him in awe of how terrible a sound he was making.
“Thank you,” he said when they had fallen silent once more. “I am sorry that some of you are not overly fond of the song, but I cannot think of a better!”
“Master Hearpwine, can I say something?” The Bard looked at the speaker and for the first time noticed that it was an Elven child. His face registered shock, for never had he beheld an Elf younger than himself. So surprised was he that he made no answer, so the little fellow continued on his own. “If it’s true that no-one in the Shire would object to a song telling the woodsman not to chop down the Party Tree, then maybe we could change your song a bit and make it about that. I know that I would be happy to sing such a song, for the new Party Tree is a mallyrn and much beloved of my people.”
Hearpwine smiled at the lad and then turned to the others. “Well, children? What do you think?” there was a general mood of assent in the room, with many bright hobbit faces nodding in agreement. “Very well then,” he continued, “let us work on altering the lyrics so that it is a song about the Party Tree!”
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