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"Blast it, Rosie, go home." Tom scowled at his little sister. "You're too small to come with us."

"I am not," she folded her arms across the bib of her pinafore. "You took Jolly last time and he's not seven yet. I'm halfway to eight."

Tom glanced over at Sam and made a face. "I bet Marigold never asks Sam to take her with him."

"Marigold's a boring old pigeon." Rosie scowled right back, stamping her foot against the front path. "All she does is play tea parties. I want to play with you boys instead."

"Come on, go play with Marigold. You'll have more fun, she's a sensible lass, not a ninny like you." Tom pushed Rosie's shoulder. "Shove off and leave us alone."

"If you like Marigold so much, maybe she should be your sister. And Sam can be my brother, he's much nicer than you! You let me come, Tom, or I'll tell Mummy it was you who upset the milk all over the tablecloth, and not Nick at all."

"Rosie." Tom groaned. "Don't be such a pain."

"It's all right, she can come along." Sam put in, squinting up at the sun overhead. "We should be off, if we want to catch Mr Burrows."

"If we've missed him because of you..." Tom scowled at Rosie. She poked her tongue out at his back and then ran to catch up, the ribbon on one of her plaits coming loose.

They hadn't missed Mr Burrows, who made a trip out as far as the crossroads halfway between Hobbiton and the Brandywine bridge every fortnight, with a cart full of things the families out that way had ordered from the village. Sam and Tom had begged permission to ride along, as long as they were back the same day they left. Rosie secretly hoped they wouldn't be, she'd never slept away from her own bed before.

Tom ignored her the whole trip there, hours on the back of the cart between sacks of flour and fat coils of rope. Sam was nicer, he showed her how to chew on the long stems of grass that grew for miles, to get the sticky-sweet juice out. He pulled the ribbons off her plaits and made her hair curl out around her face, and she giggled and blew a dandelion at him.

Tom wouldn't talk to either of them when they reached their destination, stalking off without a word. Sam just shrugged, and Rosie tapped him on the nose and said he was It for tiggy.

It was one of those days where everything was so pretty that Rosie's toes curled and her heart felt like a big bubble, all shiny and floaty and wonderful. There were flowers everywhere, crawling up over fences and strewn across the ground, and dark green leaves, and bright green grass, and big trees to climb in.

They scampered and explored, keeping the time in mind so they wouldn't miss their ride home. They frightened the birds off an old scarecrow and flopped down, laughing and breathless.

"Never been this far from home before." Sam mused, looking up at the sky.

"Ha! I've been further than you, then!" Rosie boasted, getting up and taking long strides out into the field.

"We should go back." Sam sat up. "With Tom in the mood he's in, it would pay to tread careful."

But Tom and Mr Burrows and the cart were gone.

"The wee boy said you two had found another way home, that Milo didn't have to wait about." A farmer explained, hefting one of the sacks of chickenfeed over his shoulder and walking off.

Rosie sat down by the side of the road and burst into tears. Being so far away had seemed a great adventure, but now she was tired and frightened and wanted to go home.

"Hush, we'll think of something." Sam soothed. "You ought to stop crying, you'll make your face all blotchy."

"But now we won't get home for days, and Jolly will steal all my pretty things, and Dad will cut my hair off for disobeying again."

"Well," Sam paused in thought. "I reckon you can steal your things right back, then. And your hair's pretty as anything, no mistake, so I'm sure your Dad will let you keep it."

"Aren't you scared, Sam?" Rosie sniffled. "You must be terribly brave."

"I'm not. But somebody has to keep a clear head, and you're just blubbing like a big wet hen." Sam ruffled her hair. "Cheer up, we'll find a way home. And then I'll put cow dollops in all of Tom's pockets for leaving us in this mess."

Rosie giggled, despite herself. Sam plaited her hair back into the two long tails she'd set out with, as carefully as he could. They were quite good, as far as Rosie could tell.

"We'd better get walking, it's a long way." She smoothed her skirt and stood up, trying to look fierce and strong. Sam nodded, taking her hand. Rosie was glad he offered, because she didn't want to seem like a baby but it was all as scary and as strange as anything had ever been.

They walked for what felt like forever, until the sun had slipped down low and Rosie thought she'd fall asleep on her feet for sure. She'd stumbled twice now, fallen on her hand and torn the skin, and her dress was dirty on the knees. She didn't cry though, because she was nearly as big as Sam and he was brave as a character in a story, a prince or a warrior.

Eventually they were too tired to go further, lying beside the road and trying to sleep. But everything was noisy and shadowy, and Rosie imagined there were trolls and monsters all around, even in the middle of the Shire. She heard a clip-clop noise, and thought for sure it was something come to eat them, but it was just a pony pulling a carriage, the sort hardly ever seen in Hobbiton. Sam sat up at the sound too, and then cried out with joy and waved to the people inside as the carriage drew up alongside them.

"Why, it's little Samwise! What're you doing here?" the hobbit inside asked.

"Begging your pardon, Mr Bilbo, but we're lost. Could you see to driving us home, if you've got the room to spare?"

"Oh, I think so." Mr Bilbo's eyes twinkled. "Come on up. And who's this delicate little Miss?"

"Hullo." Rosie said shyly, chewing on the end of one of her clumsy braids. "You're Mr Baggins that Sam's Gaffer works for."

"That's me, all right. Climb up, child, this night's too cold to stand about it."

"How was your visit to your cousins, Mr Frodo?" Sam was asking the other occupant of the carriage as Rosie climbed in. It was a boy, younger than Mr Bilbo but older than her or Sam, with nice blue eyes and a big smile.

"Great fun. It seems every time I'm there they've grown bigger. Baby Pippin's crawling all over the place already." The boy grinned. "What adventures have you been up to, Sam?"

"We were lost, we might never have been found." Rosie piped up, her confidence returning. "But we weren't scared at all, even when I fell and hurt my hand."

"Ouch." The boy held her palm up carefully. "I bet that smarted. Shall I kiss it better for you?"

"Yes." She nodded. "I'm Rosie."

The boy kissed her scrape so lightly it felt like a butterfly's wings. "Pleased to meet you, Rosie. I'm Frodo."

"I fell too, but I'm not sooking about." Sam grumbled, nursing his hand as if it were twice what Rosie had suffered. The big fibber! Rosie had seen his hand and it was hardly anything at all. Frodo laughed and kissed Sam's hand, too, and Rosie bit her tongue to keep from poking it out. Sam had been very nice to her when they were lost, and Mr Frodo's kisses were lovely things to get no matter what whopping lies you told to get them.

"It's too late for small ones like you two to be awake. Lean against me and get some sleep, and we'll wake you when we get there." Frodo ordered. Rosie rested against his side, meeting Sam's eyes as he snuggled under the offered arm. Tom could just go jump in the river for his trick, she'd had more fun this way anyway.

"Never fear," Frodo whispered when Rosie was almost on her way to dreamland. "People almost never get so lost they can't be found again."

~

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