more that are turned back at the borders. The Bounders have never been so busy before.
‘And I’ve heard tell that Elves are moving west. They do say they are going to the harbours, out away beyond the White Towers.’
Sam waved his arm vaguely: neither he nor any of them knew how far it was to the Sea, past the old towers beyond the western
borders of the Shire. But it was an old tradition that away over there stood the Grey Havens, from which at times elven-ships
set sail, never to return.
‘They are sailing, sailing, sailing over the Sea, they are going into the West and leaving us,’ said Sam, half chanting the
words, shaking his head sadly and solemnly. But Ted laughed.
‘Well, that isn’t anything new, if you believe the old tales. And I don’t see what it matters to me or you. Let them sail!
But I warrant you haven’t seen them doing it; nor anyone else in the Shire.’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Sam thoughtfully. He believed he had once seen an Elf in the woods, and still hoped to see more
one day. Of all the legends that he had heard in his early years such fragments of tales and half-remembered stories about
the Elves as the hobbits knew, had always moved him most deeply. ‘There are some, even in these parts, as know the Fair Folk
and get news of them,’ he said. ‘There’s Mr. Baggins now, that I work for. He told me that they were sailing and he knows
a bit about Elves. And old Mr. Bilbo knew more: many’s the talk I had with him when I was a little lad.’
‘Oh, they’re both cracked,’ said Ted. ‘Leastways old Bilbo was cracked, and Frodo’s cracking. If that’s where you get your
news from, you’ll never want for moonshine. Well, friends, I’m off home. Your good health!’ He drained his mug and went out
noisily.
Sam sat silent and said no more. He had a good deal to think about. For one thing, there was a lot to do up in the Bag End
garden, and he would have a busy day tomorrow, if the weather cleared. The grass was growing fast. But Sam had more on his
mind than gardening. After a while he sighed, and got up and went out.
It was early April and the sky was now clearing after heavy rain. The sun was down, and a cool pale evening was quietly fading
into night. He walked home under the early stars through Hobbiton and up the Hill, whistling softly and thoughtfully.
It was just at this time that Gandalf reappeared after his long absence. For three years after the Party he had been away.
Then he paid Frodo a brief visit, and after taking a good look at him he went off again. During the next year or two he had
turned up fairly often, coming unexpectedly after dusk, and going off without warning before sunrise. He would not discuss
his own business and journeys, and seemed chiefly interested in small news about Frodo’s health and doings.
Then suddenly his visits had ceased. It was over nine years since Frodo had seen or heard of him, and he had begun to think
that the wizard would never return and had given up all interest in hobbits. But that evening, as Sam was walking home and
twilight was fading, there came the once familiar tap on the study window.
Frodo welcomed his old friend with surprise and great delight. They looked hard at one another.
‘All well eh?’ said Gandalf. ‘You look the same as ever, Frodo!’
‘So do you,’ Frodo replied; but secretly he thought that Gandalf looked older and more careworn. He pressed him for news of
himself and of the wide world, and soon they were deep in talk, and they stayed up far into the night.
Next morning after a late breakfast, the wizard was sitting with Frodo by the open window of the study. A bright firewas on the hearth, but the sun was warm, and the wind was in the South. Everything looked fresh, and the new green of spring
was shimmering in the fields and on the tips of the trees’ fingers.
Gandalf was thinking of a spring, nearly eighty years before, when Bilbo had run
‘And I’ve heard tell that Elves are moving west. They do say they are going to the harbours, out away beyond the White Towers.’
Sam waved his arm vaguely: neither he nor any of them knew how far it was to the Sea, past the old towers beyond the western
borders of the Shire. But it was an old tradition that away over there stood the Grey Havens, from which at times elven-ships
set sail, never to return.
‘They are sailing, sailing, sailing over the Sea, they are going into the West and leaving us,’ said Sam, half chanting the
words, shaking his head sadly and solemnly. But Ted laughed.
‘Well, that isn’t anything new, if you believe the old tales. And I don’t see what it matters to me or you. Let them sail!
But I warrant you haven’t seen them doing it; nor anyone else in the Shire.’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Sam thoughtfully. He believed he had once seen an Elf in the woods, and still hoped to see more
one day. Of all the legends that he had heard in his early years such fragments of tales and half-remembered stories about
the Elves as the hobbits knew, had always moved him most deeply. ‘There are some, even in these parts, as know the Fair Folk
and get news of them,’ he said. ‘There’s Mr. Baggins now, that I work for. He told me that they were sailing and he knows
a bit about Elves. And old Mr. Bilbo knew more: many’s the talk I had with him when I was a little lad.’
‘Oh, they’re both cracked,’ said Ted. ‘Leastways old Bilbo was cracked, and Frodo’s cracking. If that’s where you get your
news from, you’ll never want for moonshine. Well, friends, I’m off home. Your good health!’ He drained his mug and went out
noisily.
Sam sat silent and said no more. He had a good deal to think about. For one thing, there was a lot to do up in the Bag End
garden, and he would have a busy day tomorrow, if the weather cleared. The grass was growing fast. But Sam had more on his
mind than gardening. After a while he sighed, and got up and went out.
It was early April and the sky was now clearing after heavy rain. The sun was down, and a cool pale evening was quietly fading
into night. He walked home under the early stars through Hobbiton and up the Hill, whistling softly and thoughtfully.
It was just at this time that Gandalf reappeared after his long absence. For three years after the Party he had been away.
Then he paid Frodo a brief visit, and after taking a good look at him he went off again. During the next year or two he had
turned up fairly often, coming unexpectedly after dusk, and going off without warning before sunrise. He would not discuss
his own business and journeys, and seemed chiefly interested in small news about Frodo’s health and doings.
Then suddenly his visits had ceased. It was over nine years since Frodo had seen or heard of him, and he had begun to think
that the wizard would never return and had given up all interest in hobbits. But that evening, as Sam was walking home and
twilight was fading, there came the once familiar tap on the study window.
Frodo welcomed his old friend with surprise and great delight. They looked hard at one another.
‘All well eh?’ said Gandalf. ‘You look the same as ever, Frodo!’
‘So do you,’ Frodo replied; but secretly he thought that Gandalf looked older and more careworn. He pressed him for news of
himself and of the wide world, and soon they were deep in talk, and they stayed up far into the night.
Next morning after a late breakfast, the wizard was sitting with Frodo by the open window of the study. A bright firewas on the hearth, but the sun was warm, and the wind was in the South. Everything looked fresh, and the new green of spring
was shimmering in the fields and on the tips of the trees’ fingers.
Gandalf was thinking of a spring, nearly eighty years before, when Bilbo had run
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