Gollum talking about? What useful thing could he keep out on the dark lake? But he was wrong. Gollum did mean to come back. He was angry now and hungry. And he was a miserable
wicked creature, and already he had a plan.
Not far away was his island, of which Bilbo knew nothing, and there in his hiding-place he kept a few wretched oddments, and
one very beautiful thing, very beautiful, very wonderful. He had a ring, a golden ring, a precious ring.
“My birthday-present!” he whispered to himself, as he had often done in the endless dark days. “That’s what we wants now,
yes; we wants it!”
He wanted it because it was a ring of power, and if you slipped that ring on your finger, you were invisible; only in the
full sunlight could you be seen, and then only by your shadow, and that would be shaky and faint.
“My birthday-present! It came to me on my birthday, my precious.” So he had always said to himself. But who knows how Gollum
came by that present, ages ago in the old days when such rings were still at large in the world? Perhaps even the Master who
ruled them could not have said. Gollum used to wear it at first, till it tired him; and then he kept it in a pouch next his
skin, till it galled him; and now usually he hid it in a hole in the rock on his island, and was always going back to look
at it. And still sometimes he put it on, when he could not bear to be parted from it any longer, or when he was very, very,
hungry, and tired of fish. Then he would creep along dark passages looking for stray goblins. He might even venture into places
where the torches were lit and made his eyes blink and smart; for he would be safe. Oh yes, quite safe. No one would see him, no one would notice him, till he had his fingers on their throat. Only a few
hours ago he had worn it, and caught a small goblin-imp. How it squeaked! He still had a bone or two left to gnaw, but he
wanted something softer.
“Quite safe, yes,” he whispered to himself. “It won’t see us, will it, my precious? No. It won’t see us, and its nassty little
sword will be useless, yes quite.”
That is what was in his wicked little mind, as he slipped suddenly from Bilbo’s side, and flapped back to his boat, and went
off into the dark. Bilbo thought he had heard the last of him. Still he waited a while; for he had no idea how to find his
way out alone.
Suddenly he heard a screech. It sent a shiver down his back. Gollum was cursing and wailing away in the gloom, not very far
off by the sound of it. He was on his island, scrabbling here and there, searching and seeking in vain.
“Where iss it? Where iss it?” Bilbo heard him crying. “Losst it is, my precious, lost, lost! Curse us and crush us, my precious
is lost!”
“What’s the matter?” Bilbo called. “What have you lost?”
“It mustn’t ask us,” shrieked Gollum. “Not its business, no, gollum! It’s losst, gollum, gollum, gollum.”
“Well, so am I,” cried Bilbo, “and I want to get unlost. And I won the game, and you promised. So come along! Come and let
me out, and then go on with your looking!” Utterly miserable as Gollum sounded, Bilbo could not find much pity in his heart,
and he had a feeling that anything Gollum wanted so much could hardly be something good. “Come along!” he shouted.
“No, not yet, precious!” Gollum answered. “We must search for it, it’s lost, gollum.”
“But you never guessed my last question, and you promised,” said Bilbo.
“Never guessed!” said Gollum. Then suddenly out of the gloom came a sharp hiss. “What has it got in its pocketses? Tell us
that. It must tell first.”
As far as Bilbo knew, there was no particular reason why he should not tell. Gollum’s mind had jumped to a guess quicker than
his; naturally, for Gollum had brooded for ages on this one thing, and he was always afraid of its being stolen. But Bilbo
was annoyed at the delay. After all, he had won the game,
wicked creature, and already he had a plan.
Not far away was his island, of which Bilbo knew nothing, and there in his hiding-place he kept a few wretched oddments, and
one very beautiful thing, very beautiful, very wonderful. He had a ring, a golden ring, a precious ring.
“My birthday-present!” he whispered to himself, as he had often done in the endless dark days. “That’s what we wants now,
yes; we wants it!”
He wanted it because it was a ring of power, and if you slipped that ring on your finger, you were invisible; only in the
full sunlight could you be seen, and then only by your shadow, and that would be shaky and faint.
“My birthday-present! It came to me on my birthday, my precious.” So he had always said to himself. But who knows how Gollum
came by that present, ages ago in the old days when such rings were still at large in the world? Perhaps even the Master who
ruled them could not have said. Gollum used to wear it at first, till it tired him; and then he kept it in a pouch next his
skin, till it galled him; and now usually he hid it in a hole in the rock on his island, and was always going back to look
at it. And still sometimes he put it on, when he could not bear to be parted from it any longer, or when he was very, very,
hungry, and tired of fish. Then he would creep along dark passages looking for stray goblins. He might even venture into places
where the torches were lit and made his eyes blink and smart; for he would be safe. Oh yes, quite safe. No one would see him, no one would notice him, till he had his fingers on their throat. Only a few
hours ago he had worn it, and caught a small goblin-imp. How it squeaked! He still had a bone or two left to gnaw, but he
wanted something softer.
“Quite safe, yes,” he whispered to himself. “It won’t see us, will it, my precious? No. It won’t see us, and its nassty little
sword will be useless, yes quite.”
That is what was in his wicked little mind, as he slipped suddenly from Bilbo’s side, and flapped back to his boat, and went
off into the dark. Bilbo thought he had heard the last of him. Still he waited a while; for he had no idea how to find his
way out alone.
Suddenly he heard a screech. It sent a shiver down his back. Gollum was cursing and wailing away in the gloom, not very far
off by the sound of it. He was on his island, scrabbling here and there, searching and seeking in vain.
“Where iss it? Where iss it?” Bilbo heard him crying. “Losst it is, my precious, lost, lost! Curse us and crush us, my precious
is lost!”
“What’s the matter?” Bilbo called. “What have you lost?”
“It mustn’t ask us,” shrieked Gollum. “Not its business, no, gollum! It’s losst, gollum, gollum, gollum.”
“Well, so am I,” cried Bilbo, “and I want to get unlost. And I won the game, and you promised. So come along! Come and let
me out, and then go on with your looking!” Utterly miserable as Gollum sounded, Bilbo could not find much pity in his heart,
and he had a feeling that anything Gollum wanted so much could hardly be something good. “Come along!” he shouted.
“No, not yet, precious!” Gollum answered. “We must search for it, it’s lost, gollum.”
“But you never guessed my last question, and you promised,” said Bilbo.
“Never guessed!” said Gollum. Then suddenly out of the gloom came a sharp hiss. “What has it got in its pocketses? Tell us
that. It must tell first.”
As far as Bilbo knew, there was no particular reason why he should not tell. Gollum’s mind had jumped to a guess quicker than
his; naturally, for Gollum had brooded for ages on this one thing, and he was always afraid of its being stolen. But Bilbo
was annoyed at the delay. After all, he had won the game,
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