Merry and Pippin had returned later that evening, full of chatter and speculation.
"By the way," I asked, "where did the two of you disappear to during all the excitement? I looked for you in the crowd, but I didn’t see either of you."
"Oh ...well...you know...it was a big crowd." Was their explanation.
By breakfast the next morning, my cousins had disappeared once again. I assumed that they had already eaten so I didn’t give that too much thought. Nor did I dwell much on the mysterious happenings of the night before, for my attention was taken by another, smaller mystery. While gathering my eating utensils, it came to me that my silverware seemed in short supply. I might not have noticed, except for the fact that I couldn’t find the spoon I preferred to use. Further investigation revealed that the matching knife was also missing. It wasn’t as if I couldn’t eat my porridge with another spoon, but the fact was, other utensils were missing, as well. It was quite perplexing. I remembered Bilbo’s conviction that Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had acquired a good many of his silver spoons while he was away on his former journey. But as far as I knew Lobelia hadn’t had occasion to come near any of my spoons in quite some time. In the end, hunger made me abandon my search and I soon tucked the worry away to deal with at a later time and sat down to enjoy my breakfast before it got cold.
"Mr. Frodo."
I looked up from my porridge to see Sam standing there. The look on his face told me something was amiss.
"You need to come outside, sor. There’s somethin’ you should see."
I set aside my bowl, rose and followed him outside without a word, despite being more than a little curious as to my gardener’s rather cryptic behaviour. My curiosity grew as we approached the Party Tree.
"Sam, what is going-" before I even finished my thought, I saw it. A familiar face stared down at me from where it hung on a branch. The missing painting swayed almost imperceptibly as the branch creaked in the gentle breeze.
"What in the...How?" I stammered.
"Those were my thoughts exactly, Mr. Frodo."
As I stared in wonder at the portrait, I became aware of a clinking, clanking noise, along with an occasional, almost blinding light as something flashed under the portrait as it rocked in the breeze. I narrowed my eyes, trying to decipher what was attached to it.
"What’s causing that light and noise?"
"Oh that." Sam replied. " Oi couldn’t figure it out either, at first, but if ya move just a little to the side," at this, he caught hold of my shirt sleeve and pulled me a few feet to one side, "ya kin see it."
And, I could indeed. Someone had tied tableware to the painting’s frame. Silver spoons clinked merrily against each other along with a lone tin cup. Every now and then, the sunlight streaming through the branches would find the polished silver and set it ablaze, sending forth shafts of light as bright as the gleam of jewels. I marveled at the engineering of this feat. Someone, or more likely, more than one person, had taken a lot of trouble to remove the portrait from the Widow Rumble’s porch where they had stowed it, after first lifting it from Daffodil’s gallery. Then, they had gone to exceeding lengths to get the painting up into the branches of the Party Tree, which would have required a ladder or a skillful climber. ( It was this part, in particular, that made me doubt the ingenuity and agility of only one person.) After which, they had affixed the silverware, my silverware, more than likely. And how they had acquired those articles, left me baffled, and not a little uneasy.
"They wanted us to find it." I reflected aloud.
Sam snorted. "O’ course they did. Otherwise they wouldn’t have gone t’ so much trouble. If you ask me, someone’s ‘avin’ a great laugh about all this."
"Well at the risk of ruining their fun, we have to get the portrait down."
Sam nodded and looked uneasily up into the branches where the portrait rocked to and fro at every stir of the breeze.
"We need a ladder." I stated.
"Do you ‘ave one?" Asked Sam.
"You know ...I don’t rightly know." I answered with a small laugh.
"Come t’ of it, Oi don’t believe Oi’ remember seein’ a ladder on the property."
"I suppose we shall have to borrow one, then."
Sam shook his head. "Don’t worry, I know we ‘ave one at ‘ome. Oi’ don’t mind t’ go and fetch it... but maybe you’d best wait here, Mr. Frodo. It wouldn’t do to ‘ave that paintin’ disappear again."
I nodded in agreement and Sam trotted off on his mission while I stood guard over the portrait. After some moments of just standing and staring up into the branches I got bored, not to mention I was beginning to get a crick in my neck. The flash of sunlight reflected off of the swinging silverware was beginning to make my eyes water, too. Added to all of this was the fact that I was beginning to feel rather a ninny. It wasn’t as if the painting was going to disappear before my very eyes. At last, I sat down with my back against the trunk of the Party Tree and commenced to wait in a more comfortable fashion.
However, it seemed as if the minutes were stretching endlessly on and still Sam had not returned. I wondered if he had perhaps been mistaken in thinking that he had a ladder at home and had gone looking to borrow one after all. While I waited, I tried to remember if I had ever seen a ladder anywhere, at anytime, about the premises of Bag End. I even tried picturing the interior of the tool shed and all of its resident implements. But I could have counted on one hand the number of times I had visited the building, and when I had, I had scarcely paid attention to its inventory.
I rested against the tree, thinking and listening to the clinking of the cutlery and the occasional birdsong. My eyes sought out any sign of movement in front of me, but the only thing stirring in the immediate vicinity was the grass waving in the wind. There was no sign of Sam returning, nor was there any implication of someone trying to sneak back to steal the portrait.
After reaching the conclusion that Sam had definitely hit a snag in the ladder hunt, I sighed and stood up. Brushing off my trousers, I looked all around once more. Satisfied, I made the decision to risk a trip to the tool shed on the off chance that there might be a ladder there.
A tiny voice in the back of my mind nagged that leaving the portrait unattended might not be such a wise idea. A little later, as I was picking myself up off the floor of the gloomy toolshed after having tripped over a rusty bucket, I was, indeed, inclined to rethink my initial decision.
I emerged from the shed bedecked in cobwebs and ladderless, just in time to see that Sam had returned, equipped with a ladder, and, the Gaffer.
"Mr. Frodo!" He called as he hurried to meet me. "What ‘appened?"
Thinking that Sam was referring to my dusty trousers and the cobwebs in my hair, I replied, "Oh...nothing, really. I thought perhaps you had run into trouble finding the ladder, so I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to double check the tool shed. I tripped over a bucket and-"
But Sam was shaking his head. "No, Oi meant what ‘appened to the paintin’?"
I froze in the midst of dusting myself off. There was a note of trepidation in my voice as I replied slowly, "What... do you... mean?"
"Our ladder was on loan to Daddy Twofoot and we’ad to borrow it back, so t’ speak. That’s what took so long." Sam began to explain.
The Gaffer interrupted with a chuckle. " ‘Ad a ‘ard time convincin’ ‘im to let us ‘ave it, we did."
"By the time we got back ‘ere, there was no sign of you, or the portrait anywhere near the Party Tree!" Sam finished.
.....What could I do but stand chastised and hope that the portrait would make another appearance.
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