The pounding on the round green door of Bag End was loud enough to attract even Frodo's attention, and he'd been busy reading an absorbing Elvish text on the many uses of corn cobs. Opening the door and squinting out into the brightness, he was surprised to see the lanky forms of Borry Brandybuck and Farry Took, a pair whose considerable height was often missed beside their even taller fathers.
"Hullo lads. Where are your sisters?" he asked them, ushering them inside.
"Oh, they're still down the path with Sam and Daisy," answered Boromir. "We didn't mean to intrude, but, well..."
"Our Mums are over visiting Long Cleeve." Faramir cut in, as usual exasperated by Borry's roundabout way of getting to the point. "And Uncle Merry's working on his book of herblore all the time, so we're hungry as anything and we wantedtocomeandeat." He paused for breath. "And we knew you'd give us something."
Faramir's Tookish charm was in full bloom on his freckled face, the imp-like grin causing Frodo's own mouth to widen in a smile reflexitively.
"I can't say that your father strikes me as the sort to let his brood go hungry, Farry."
"It's not that," Boromir answered desperately. "We're just sick of porridge, that's all. It was nice enough for the first week, but there's only so much a hobbit can eat."
"All right my boys, you'd better come in and fill your stomachs in that case," laughed Frodo.
Farry and Borry followed their uncle down the hallway towards the kitchen, already bewitched by the scent of the cottage loaf that Rosie had removed from the oven moments before.
Primrose, curls tucked up under a bright blue scarf and dress protected by an apron that had survived all the Gardner girls since Elanor, nodded hello to them as she passed them in the passage. Prim liked Borry and Farry well enough, for they were a jolly and friendly pair, but she had never been as sociable as typical hobbits and preferred her own company.
She was going to visit Uncle Nibs' farm down past Bywater, to see the two new baby goats there. Primrose loved all animals, and wee ones best of all, and her uncle had said that she might name this new pair, so all her thoughts were taking up with thinking of names.
Oh, they were lovely to see, two bleating wobbly little things on shaky legs in the warm darkness of the Cotton barn. Primrose clapped her hands in delight, turning to her uncle with shining eyes.
"Can I stay with them? Just for a little bit, just so I can get to know them. If I don't know them well enough, you see, the names I give them might not fit."
"All right, lass, your Dad's coming by at dinner time to bring me down some seedlings I asked for, so you can stay until he comes if you like."
So Primrose sat down on the clean hay-strewn floor and coaxed the nervous babes to come close to her.
"Hello there. I'm your cousin, of sorts. Primula Sofie Dawn Gardner, only I don't think I've ever been called that at once." She chuckled as the bolder of the two came over and nibbled at her fingertips, testing to see if they were good to eat. "Everyone knows me as Primrose, which is a less frilly way of saying Primula and not as much a mouthful. My Dad likes short names on people, says they wear better, but my Uncle Frodo's Mum was a Primula and all the other boys and girls up at Bag End are named after somebody from earlier generations and I'm no different. So I'm Primula on paper and Primrose to everybody."
Primrose shifted to make herself more comfortable, scritching at the chin of the little goatling closest to her. "My Uncle Frodo's not actually my uncle, but it's the word that makes the most sense to use for him. He's... he's just Frodo, really, as my Mum is Rosie and my Dad is Sam, though I expect that goats don't need to worry about working that sort of thing out. You just are the way you are and that's that.
"I don't want to name you two after anybody, because it gets awfully confusing if everyone shares their name with somebody else. F'rinstance, I've got a brother named Merry, and he's chums with Borry Brandybuck, but Merry's name is the same as Borry's Dad's and Borry himself is called after one of the Men in the stories in the Red Book. The Red Book is a tale about all sorts of adventures that my Dad and Uncle and Mr Merry and Mr Pippin - not my brothers, the other ones - and a lot of other folk had years and years ago. Some of them are grand adventures and some are dreadfully sad, but I suppose it's better to have both sorts than no sort at all.
"Borry and Farry - that's for Faramir, who was the first Borry's brother but this Farry and this Borry aren't really brothers, just sort-of brothers - live in a house in Bucklebury usually, though they've got homes in Brandy Hall and Great Smials as well. Their Bucklebury house is their proper home, though, and it's not really a house at all, it's two houses on one bit of land. If you think having a Frodo, a Sam and a Rosie for parents is confusing, then Borry and Farry go one better because they've got a Merry-Dad, a Pippin-Dad, a Stel-Mummy, and a Dinny-Mum as well. There aren't as many children there as at Bag End, though with two mothers about the place you'd expect lots and lots, wouldn't you? There's just Farry and Borry and Meli and Molly. My Mum says I'll understand why there aren't more when I'm bigger, but I don't tell her that I sort of guess why now." Primrose giggled, a blush rising under her brown freckles. The baby goats continued their nervous exploration of the world of the barn and this new warm chattering person with soft hands and cotton skirts to nibble on.
"I like having a lot of sisters and brothers, they're all very interesting people. Some of them, like Elly and Fro - do you begin to see my point about using names over and over? - are almost grown entirely, and some are still small as, well, as small as you, my little lamblings. Sammie, he's the next oldest just above me, says that I should call you Beren and Luthien, but I think that's a burden that baby goats simply shouldn't have to bear. I think that you should be given nice useful names."
Primrose paused, cocking her head to one side as she gazed at the two goats.
"You," she pointed to one. "Should be Sugar, because your little face looks so sweet, and your almost-sister can be Salt because her hair's all in little waves like the sea." Primrose put a hand to her small round tummy. "I do hope it's dinner-time soon, talking works up quite an appetite!"
It was indeed almost dinner-time, and before long Sam arrived to collect his daughter. Because there were (as usual) a lot of people up at Bag End and a lot of food to be eaten, dinner was up under the big tree on the hill. All sorts of lovely flowers, pale and vibrant and strong-smelling alike, were in bloom about the place, and butterflies and dragonflies and bees flitted around the assembled hobbits as they tucked into their food. Borry Brandybuck and Merry Gardner were in deep discussion on the subject of pony breeding, with Delphinium Grubb and her older sister, Hope, listening politely. It seemed to Primrose that Hope was sitting as if she'd like nothing more than to pounce on poor Borry and gobble him up. He was a fair-faced lad, much resembling his father, but Primrose thought that this was hardly reason enough for intentions of devouring. Delphinium seemed to be choking back a laugh at Hope's expression.
The other members of the neighbourhood pack, a group notorious for trouble which included Delphinium among its prime offenders, were playing King of the Mountain around the exposed roots of the tree. Daisy and Sammie Gardner, Meli Took, Molly Brandybuck, and the marginally better behaved Aster Digg-Tooter. Little Bilbo had once asked Sammie mockingly if he ever got tired of playing with girls, only to be asked scathingly if Bilbo himself ever got tired of being a ninnyhammer.
"What're you thinking of, Prim?" Sam-dad asked her, pulling her onto his lap as he had done when she was smaller.
"How much I like people, Dad. I like how laughing sounds, and if we didn't have people then there wouldn't be anybody to laugh."
"That's a good thing to be thinking of, I reckon," Sam said with a grin. "So what did you end up naming Nibs' little goats, then?"
"Sugar and Salt, but I told Uncle that he could call them Beren and Luthien if he liked those names better."
"And what did he say to that?"
"He said Sugar and Salt were good goaty names and would do nicely. Do you think they're good names, Dad?"
"I do indeed, Primrose. Would you like it if I started calling you that instead?"
Primrose laughed. "No, Dad, I like the names I've got just fine, thankyou."
~
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