"Well, well, bless my beard!" said Gandalf. "Sam Gamgee is it? Now what may you be doing?"

"Lor bless you, Mr. Gandalf, sir!" said Sam. "Nothing! Leastways I was just trimming the grass-border under the window, if you follow me." He picked up his shears and exhibited them as evidence.

"I don't," said Gandalf grimly. It is some time since I last heard the sound of your shears. How long have you been eavesdropping?"

"Eavesdropping, sir? I don't follow you, begging your pardon. There ain't no eaves at Bag End, and that's a fact."

"Don't be a fool! What have you heard, and why did you listen?" Gandalf's eyes flashed and his brows stuck out like bristles.

"Mr. Frodo, sir!" cried Sam quaking. "Don't let him hurt me, sir! Don't let him turn me into anything unnatural! My old dad would take on so. I meant no harm, on my honour, sir!"

"He won't hurt you," said Frodo, hardly able to keep from laughing, although he was himself startled and rather puzzled. "He knows, as well as I do, that you mean no harm. But just you up and answer his questions straight away!"

"Well, sir," said Sam dithering a little. "I heard a deal that I didn't rightly understand, about an enemy, and rings, and Mr. Bilbo, sir, and dragons, and a fiery mountain, and - and Elves, sir. I listened because I couldn't help myself, if you know what I mean. Lor bless me, sir, but I do love tales of that sort. And I believe them too, whatever Ted may say. Elves, sir! I would dearly love to seethem. Couldn't you take me to see Elves, sir, when you go?"

Suddenly Gandalf laughed. "Come inside!" he shouted, and putting out both his arms he lifted the astonished Sam, shears, grass-clippings and all, right through the window and stood him on the floor. "Take you to see Elves, eh?" he said, eyeing Sam closely, but with a smile flickering on his face. "So you heard that Mr. Frodo is going away?"

"I did, sir. And that's why I choked: which you heard seemingly. I tried not to, sir, but it burst out of me: I was so upset."

"It can't be helped, Sam," said Frodo sadly. He had suddenly realized that flying from the Shire would mean more painful partings than merely saying farewell to the familiar comforts of Bag End. "I shall have to go. But' - and here he looked hard at Sam - 'if you really care about me, you will keep thatdead secret. See? If you don't, if you even breathe a word of what you've heard here, then I hope Gandalf will turn you into a spotted toad and fill the garden full of grass-snakes."

Sam fell on his knees, trembling. "Get up, Sam!" said Gandalf. I have thought of something better than that. Something to shut your mouth, and punish you properly for listening. You shall go away with Mr. Frodo!"

"Me, sir!" cried Sam, springing up like a dog invited for a walk. "Me go and see Elves and all! Hooray!" he shouted, and then burst into tears.

Chapter 3: Three is Company

"You ought to go quietly, and you ought to go soon," said Gandalf. Two or three weeks had passed, and still Frodo made no sign of getting ready to go.

"I know. But it is difficult to do both," he objected. If I just vanish like Bilbo, the tale will be all over the Shire in no time."

"Of course you mustn't vanish!" said Gandalf. "That wouldn't do at all! I saidsoon, notinstantly. If you can think of any way of slipping out of the Shire without its being generally known, it will be worth a little delay. But you must not delay too long."

"What about the autumn, on or after Our Birthday?" asked Frodo. "I think I could probably make some arrangements by then."

To tell the truth, he was very reluctant to start, now that it had come to the point. Bag End seemed a more desirable residence than it had for years, and he wanted to savour as much as he could of his last summer in the Shire. When autumn came, he knew that part at least of his heart would think more kindly of journeying, as it always did at that season. He had indeed privately made up his mind to leave on his fiftieth birthday: Bilbo's one hundred and twenty-eighth. It seemed somehow the proper day on which to set out and follow him. Following Bilbo was uppermost in his mind, and the one thing that made the thought of leaving bearable. He thought as little as possible about the Ring, and where it might lead him in the end. But he did not tell all his thoughts to Gandalf. What the wizard guessed was always difficult to tell.

He looked at Frodo and smiled. "Very well," he said. "I think that will do - but it must not be any later. I am getting very anxious. In the mean-while, do take care, and don't let out any hint of where you are going! And see that Sam Gamgee does not talk. If he does, I really shall turn him into a toad."

"As forwhere I am going," said Frodo, 'it would be difficult to give that away, for I have no clear idea myself, yet."

"Don't be absurd!" said Gandalf. "I am not warning you against leaving an address at the post-office! But you are leaving the Shire - and that should not be known, until you are far away. And you must go, or at least set out, either North, South, West or East - and the direction should certainly not be known."

"I have been so taken up with the thoughts of leaving Bag End, and of saying farewell, that I have never even considered the direction," said Frodo. "For where am I to go? And by what shall I steer? What is to be my quest? Bilbo went to find a treasure, there and back again; but I go to lose one, and not return, as far as I can see."

"But you cannot see very far," said Gandalf. "Neither can I. It may be your task to find the Cracks of Doom; but that quest may be for others: I do not know. At any rate you are not ready for that long road yet."

"No indeed!" said Frodo. "But in the meantime what course am I to lake?"

"Towards danger; but not too rashly, nor too straight," answered the wizard. "If you want my advice, make for Rivendell. That journey should not prove too perilous, though the Road is less easy than it was, and it will grow worse as the year fails."

"Rivendell!" said Frodo. "Very good: I will go east, and I will make for Rivendell. I will take Sam to visit the Elves; he will be delighted." He spoke lightly; but his heart was moved suddenly with a desire to see the house of Elrond Halfelven, and breathe the air of that deep valley where many of the Fair Folk still dwelt in peace.

One summer's evening an astonishing piece of news reached theIvy Bush andGreen Dragon. Giants and other portents on the borders of the Shire were forgotten for more important matters: Mr. Frodo was selling Bag End, indeed he had already sold it - to the Sackville-Bagginses!

"For a nice bit, loo," said some. "At a bargain price," said others, 'and that's more likely when Mistress Lobelia's the buyer." (Otho had died some years before, at the ripe but disappointed age of 102.)