AN: Hi guys. Thank you so much for reading this. It's more of a pilot than anything. I haven't written any fanfiction since I was 15, but inspiration seemed to strike recently and I started up again. I'm just posting a test chapter, and based on how well it does, I may continue to post more. This is being written more for my own amusement than anything else, so it's up to you guys whether or not you want to keep reading more. I must warn you though: I'm rather long-winded. Also, I apologize, as I had really no idea how to start this. I'll probably edit in a better start later. Please enjoy. :)

Bilbo Baggins peered curiously out the window by the round front door of his cozy hobbit hole. Having just had a rather interesting, and unsettling encounter, Bilbo was so intent on making sure his earlier conversation partner had left him that he was not aware of the presence behind him.

"Uncle, what are you doing?"

"Oh!"

Bilbo nearly leapt through the ceiling, knocking over the bin of finely made umbrellas by the round door. He reeled on the owner of that voice with a well-practiced "serious face".

"Firiel-May Brandybuck," he admonished her, "You nearly caused me to have a heart attack!"

It was hardly difficult for anyone who looked to see the relation between Bilbo Baggins and Firiel-May Brandybuck. The child of Bilbo's much older sister, Myrtle Baggins-Brandybuck, Firiel was often joked to be his child rather than his sister's. As much as this was thankfully untrue (not to say Bilbo did not love her as his own, for he loved her quite dearly), Bilbo could easily see why such jokes were made.

The two hobbits were most similar in colouring, only shades apart due to Firiel's fierce love for the light of the sun and the fresh green of their equally beloved Shire. Even their eyes were the same colour; an outwardly dark mixture of blue, grey and green much in likeness to the Brandywine river. There were, of course, some fairly obvious differences between the two.

Firiel stood very near to Bilbo in height. So close in fact that there could not have been more than an inch between them. While Bilbo had a rounder face and a long, sort of fattish nose, Firiel had ever so slightly sharper yet feminine features, with a squared but soft jaw and a somewhat large, straight, pointed nose. Her fine, messy curls grew down past her shoulder blades, with side-sweeping layers of waves and curls. Her mouth was small, and her soft lips a rather typical shade of cool pink. Her eyes, coloured like lake water, were often described as the most beautiful thing about her. Though their colour matched Bilbo's at first glance, closer examination revealed a golden brown ring surrounding each pupil, like a small island surrounded by a rush-bottomed deep. Many a conversation partner had become lost in them, examining their colours and the pure, open, honest emotions they conveyed through long lashes.

Her body curved like the river as well. She was not round-bellied like most hobbits, but had a small waist and broad yet thin shoulders. Between those two points lay her soft, plump bosom. Her well-defined waist fanned gracefully into wide, long hips, which then became large muscular thighs, down to toned, curving calves and graceful ankles. Her little pointed ears and large, fuzzy feet made her so obviously a hobbit, completing that interesting little picture of a woman.

"My apologies, Uncle Bilbo," Firiel laughed, "But you were behaving rather oddly.

"Though I do suppose that shouldn't really cause me any concern," she added, a mischievous twinkle alighting her entire being.

Bilbo had almost forgotten that his younger niece from Bree was his houseguest at the moment. She had been for nearly several weeks now; most of the confections that stocked Bag-End's great pantry had been made by her tiny, delicate hands. Her stay with her uncle was more than just a friendly visit to keep the family's eternal bachelor company though.

At age of only 27, Firiel had yet to come of age for another 6 years, but she was nearly on the verge of being unceremoniously thrust into adulthood. Despite her lacking in years, her parents, brother and sister-in-law to the current Master of Buckland, had decided it would be beneficial to the entirety of Hobbit-dom if Firiel were to be married to a young merchant in Bree. Her father was of the same profession, and had met the young man while trading for some dwarfish tools to sell to local farmers at ridiculous prices. The young man had mentioned he was in the market for a wife, and Firiel's father had sold her like common cattle. Though it was often thought that hobbits had no need for gold and overwhelmingly rich possessions, there were a great number of exceptions to that rule.

To make matters worse for the young she-hobbit, her mother hadn't said a word against it. She said it would finally make her little Firiel "grow up". She was excited. Her siblings and other relatives were all very much in the same mindset. It would be "good for securing the family" and "an excellent connection to have".

Firiel didn't care. She didn't want this. She was still so young; she had so many plans in life. She was going to get out of hobbit country, explore the world. But, unfortunately, she had little more to her name than the clothes on her back and her person.

That is where Bilbo came in.

Firiel knew very well that her mother's younger brother was and always had been a bachelor. She knew that, if anyone could or would understand her utter aversion to the idea of marriage, much less an arranged one, it would be her beloved Uncle Bilbo. Though, she had faced some uncertainty. Bilbo rarely interacted with the rest of the family, and preferred to keep to himself in his ancestral home. But there was nothing else that she could possibly do; she had no choice, and she knew it. So she had written to him, and, much to her surprise, he had answered her with an invitation.

She could stay with him for as long as she liked, provided that she earned her keep. This little condition had recently become not a bit of trouble with her newly acquired job at The Green Dragon Inn.

The very thought had driven her mother mad, and, while her uncle pretended otherwise, he was clearly enjoying the trouble he was stirring up amongst his sister's family. Firiel would often spy the jolly old grin he gave at her mother's rather angry letters which demanded that he not so kindly butt out and send Firiel home.

"Oh, very funny; most amusing indeed," Bilbo sighed with a rather serious look on his face, "So, what is it that we shall be having for first lunch? I presume you are working tonight?"

Firiel gave another little chuckle, "You are having stew and biscuits. I figured you'd want something with a little weight since I'm working in the afternoon today. I'll be home long before dark."

"Excellent," Bilbo grinned brightly at the knowledge, though quickly schooled his features, "We'll be having some of that fish you caught the other day."

Though Bilbo would sooner die than admit it, he had slowly become accustomed to the bright light that was his spirited niece. She was a fun, optimistic, quirky creature, and he felt a sort of platonic attachment towards her. Needless to say, he was becoming a little more affectionate and, dare he say it, parental than he was used to.

"And speaking of food," he said, "I best be off to eat what you've made for me."

"Sounds lovely," Firiel nodded, not missing her uncle's poor attempt to seem nonchalant, "I'll see you later then."

"Have fun," Bilbo wished her absently as he set off towards the kitchen with a great hurry.

Firiel-May gave another little smile before she rushed out into the bright day.

It was indeed the loveliest of late mornings and Firiel decided that a bit of running would do her heart and mind some good. The community of Hobbiton lay at the heart of the Shire, and it was a place of classic values and country-side beauty. The Hill, an older part of the settlement, was where Firiel and Bilbo lived. Bag-End was placed neatly along this very hill, which bore the outward fronts of hobbit holes that peeked out beneath the grass. Once Firiel reached the bottom, she turned back to catch a glimpse of the yellow front of her rather new home. Going to stay at Bag-End had been her first adventure, and one she had sorely needed and loved. Though, her little "rebellion" had done nothing to quench her thirst for more.

"No great kingdom was built in a day," she sighed to herself

Firiel quickly turned again and headed off towards the bridge.

The Green Dragon Inn was a rather bustling place at any time of day, though it was unusually quiet this particular afternoon. Right over in Bywater, another little community not far from Hobbiton, it was a rather lovely place, with high round ceilings and oak-wood everything, as well as plenty of food and drink for any troubled soul. Not many guests came to stay in the Shire without family in the area, so it was really the pub that kept that little place afloat most nights.

"Good afternoon, Miss Firiel," young Arthur Cotton greeted her from a stool at the bar, "Papa said to tell you he'll be out in the back garden if you need him this afternoon."

"Afternoon, Arthur," she replied with a grin, ruffling the young lad's brandy-coloured curls, "Thank you for passing that along. What brings you in here today?"

Arthur was just a little boy, one of the many children of the Cotton family. His father Percival, Percy for short, was the Green Dragon's owner, who had heard Firiel's tale and taken kindly to her, giving her a job and a stable wage. Out of all Percy's children, little Arthur was there with him the most often. Firiel had a soft spot for the little boy; he was sweet as sugar and freckle-faced from the sunshine. Her secret wish was to someday have a sweet little boy like that. And at least two little girls to love and cherish just as much. Though it did not really matter which they were; she knew she would love them equal just the same.

"Papa said there were dwarves here last night," Arthur exclaimed, his eyes wide with excitement, "I've been here since this morning waiting to see them!"

"Dwarves?" Firiel quirked a brow, "Why on Middle Earth would your papa tell you there are dwarves in the Shire?"

"Why not?" Arthur asked in return, "Papa said that they're bigger and hairier than any hobbit he's ever seen!"

"Arthur, darling," Firiel moved around the bar to face him, "Why on Earth would they come to the Shire? We have no dwarves here for them to live amongst, no riches or mountains to mine. All that lies west of here are Elves, baron peeks, and the sea. What would bring them here?"

"That's what I want to ask them," the boy explained, an exasperated sort of look on his sweet face, "They told Papa they were looking for someone. Papa said it could be wives, which doesn't make sense since Mr. Gamwich says they're born out of mountain rocks."

"Yes, well, Mr. Gamwich drinks his own weight in ail every evening," Firiel gave the boy an impish grin, working to tidy up the bar for the day, "And besides-."

Before Firiel could continue, she heard the distinct sound of feminine giggles. It was quickly followed by the sound of obnoxiously heavy footstep, followed by some deep, less than distinguished chortles. There sounded to be about four of them, and they were slowly and flirtatiously making their way towards the pub. She recognized the two women right away, and was thankful for the both of them that their father was nowhere in sight.

"Whatever helps old Percy sleep at night," Firiel smirked to herself.

Just as she had predicted, from around the corridor came Percival's two oldest daughters, Petunia and Marigold. The two girls were both quite beautiful, and locally grown, so there was often a great amount of evening competition for even their attention, though the greatest prize was often seen as taken them to bed. Firiel didn't judge them; the two were using what nature gave them to their great advantage. Their tips were twice that of most of the barmaids, and even still, they were able to enjoy a good midnight tango every once in a while. Firiel was somewhat jealous of them; they seemed free. They were very sweet girls, though their father and older brothers did not often seem to see it as such.

"Good morning girls," she greeted them, smiling down at the glass mug she was wiping clean.

"Morning Firiel," Petunia greeted her with a joyful and adorably crooked smile.

"What a good morning it is," Marigold gave a Cheshire cat grin, jerking her head back to motion behind her.

"I can only imagine," Firiel chuckled, "So where are your new friends? I could have sworn I heard them coming."

"Oh, they forgot something in their rooms. They'll be out soon," Petunia leaned on the bar next to her younger brother, "I take it our father is in the kitchen?"

"Back garden, so your escape should be easier than usual," Firiel smiled, "So, Arthur tells me that your midnight partners were dwarves."

The two girls looked at each other, and it was only a moment before Petunia adopted Marigold's mischievous expression.

"Yes. And?"

Firiel gazed upon the grinning girls skeptically.

"Dwarves?"

"Yes."

"In the Shire?"

"Yes."

"In the inn?"

"Of course."

"Right now?"

"Yes."

Firiel could hardly contain her excitement. She thought her eyes were about to burst from her skull and her heart hammer up her throat.

"Oh my-well what do they look like? How big are they?" she asked.

The sister exchanged another glance before raising their hands to indicate not height, but length.

"Gah! That's not what I meant," Firiel cried, placing her hands over Arthur's innocent, curious eyes, "I meant in terms of height, width, muscle. Are they really as hairy as a horse? I take it that they don't really grow out of stone then."

Petunia and Marigold laughed like tricksters. Clearly, they were absolutely amused.

"They're huge," Petunia told her, "They're probably even taller than Grand Old Took."

"And their muscles," Marigold chimed in, "They're not as hairy as you might imagine, but my God-."

"They are just sheer man, from head to toe," Petunia finished, "Try to contain all your sexual frustration when you see them."

"Petunia," Firiel scolded her, motioning her head towards Arthur, who now had his ears covered instead of his eyes.

"You're such a mum," Marigold rolled her eyes, "He'll figure it out sooner or later."

"Children are precious," Firiel stated plainly, removing her hands from the young boy's head, "Arthur here is no exception."

"Am I really?" Arthur asked her with great excitement.

"Yes, most definitely," she smiled.

"Whatever," Petunia chuckled, "I wonder what's taking those two so long."

"Our apologies, M'Lady," came a deep, rich voice from just out of eyeshot, "We didn't mean to keep you waiting."

Firiel turned to face the owner and by the Gods, those two were right. About everything. Arthur sat in his seat, stunned into a slack-jawed stare. The two men she saw before her were most definitely dwarves. They were tall, muscle-bound, hairy, bearded, and very handsome. The slightly shorter of the two was obviously the older, with much more hair and a greater beard. His eyes were light and his thick, braided hair was the colour of golden wheat. The younger man was even more handsome, with dark eyes, and thinner hair and a very short beard that were both black as ebony. They were like day and night. The two men carried weapons and travelling packs; they were clearly ready to go.

"Oh, that's alright," Marigold pouted, "Are you leaving so soon?"

"Oh, not yet," the younger one replied, pulling Marigold into his arms, "We thought we would enjoy a bit of lunch with you two first."

He played with one of her dark brown curls, flashing her a dazzling smile followed by a quick kiss.

Flirts, Firiel thought plainly to herself, casting a glance at the blonde dwarf.

The older of the two at least appeared to have enough sense of decorum not to be so grabby as his friend. Petunia seemed a little put off by that fact, which made Firiel smile a little. Poor Petunia.

"And who is this?"

There was silence at first. Firiel looked up from wiping down the bar. She had assumed they had been talking to Arthur, but it was not Arthur who was being looked at. The blond dwarf was watching her like a hawk. Firiel met his eyes, and she instantly knew what a mistake that had been. His eyes were consuming. If she was the river, this dwarf was the sky. Boundless and bright, his eyes reached as far as, if not farther than the heavens. Try as she might to do otherwise, she could only stare back at him.

"…That's Firiel," Petunia said slowly, at little perplexity in her tone, "Firiel-May. She's our newest employee; she only moved here last month."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Miss May," the dwarf broke the spell, bowing towards her, "I am Fili, and this is my brother, Kili."

"At your service," Kili smiled at her.

Firiel nodded, quickly composing herself.

"If it is a pleasure to meet me, then I'm sure it will most certainly be a pleasure to meet this little man," Firiel smiled down at Arthur, "He's been down here since this morning, waiting to catch a glimpse of these dwarves his father told him about."

It was then Arthur snapped back to attention, blushing so furiously Firiel was sure his head would explode. She giggled to herself when the boy shot her a look; he was so very not amused.

"Is that right, young man?" Fili turned to the young boy, bending down to his eye level, "It's a pleasure to meet you as well. My name is Fili."

"I…I'm Arthur," he replied, his smile slowly returning to him, "Is it true that you're born from rocks?"

Fili laughed, his eyes twinkling a little, "No my boy. We dwarves are born from our mothers."

"Oh," said Arthur, clearly a little disappointed.

"But," Fili continued, "Unlike your mother, my mother has a beard."

"Really?" Arthur cried in sheer amazement, looking back at Firiel brightly, "What are you doing in the Shire?"

"We're here to visit a friend," the dwarf replied, sending a smile to his brother, "For a top secret mission from our king."

"Wow," Arthur was in absolute awe, "That's so cool."

The brothers grinned, sharing another look before Fili stood straight. Firiel caught his glance shifting to her again, but did well to ignore the shivers he sent through her.

"So, I'm hungry," Kili stated plainly yet brightly, "I think your best soup and some ail would be a good place to start."

Firiel's wits fully returned to her at the mention of food. He had just placed an order. An order meant food, which had to be served by a waitress, to two men of a race rumoured to carry heavy amounts of gold on their persons and eat enough food to feed an army of hobbits. That could be a rather large tip.

"Arthur, my love," Firiel said to the boy, almost magically leaping to life, "Would you run out back and tell your father that our guests are hungry? Potato and trout stew to start."

"Absolutely," Arthur leapt off his stool and ran towards the back kitchen.

"Is that alright?" she asked no one in particular, though it was clearly Fili she addressed.

"Absolutely," Kili replied for the both of them, "What have you usually got for breakfast?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Firiel cried, "I should probably set you a table and give you some menus."

"It's alright," Kili smiled, "Just give us the stuff and we'll set it ourselves."

Firiel floundered a bit before replying, "Absolutely not! I am a waitress, and my job is to wait on you.

"Would you like to put me out of the job?" she teased, her person taking on a much lighter nature.

The two dwarves grinned at one another.

"Not at all," they replied in unison.

So Firiel set the table for the two brothers and the nearly forgotten Cotton sisters. She gave them their menus, and no less than five minutes later, the brothers had probably ordered everything on it. Back bacon, crisp bacon, ham, poached eggs, scrambled eggs, eggs benedict, sausage, breakfast steak; it was miraculous. Firiel was scribbling on her note pad like an absolute madwoman.

"…And, oh, we'd like to try the pancakes as well," Kili finished neatly, "Is that alright?"

Firiel paused to look at the utter mess that was her paper pad. She could barely read it; much less poor Percy.

"So, you two want everything on the breakfast menu except for the oatmeal and seasonal fruit platter with naught but ale to drink?" she clarified.

"That's right," the dwarves grinned at her.

"Oh, but, Firiel, Petunia and I want oatmeal and the season fruit," Marigold chimed, "And two cups of Earl Grey."

"Ok then," she said with a bemused half-grin, "We're back to the whole menu."

And the whole menu it was. Poor Percy was cooking and cursing up a storm in the back kitchen, with the dwarfish brother's heavy purses clearly on his mind. Every bit of food imaginable was doled out of the Green Dragon's pantry, which had yet to be restocked from the previous party they had started the night before.

"Good God, Percy," Firiel laughed a little when she came back to the kitchen from dropping of the last of it, "Just when I thought it wouldn't stop. Are they really going to eat it all?"

"Oh, that an'more," the middle-aged ginger replied, "Almost all the food that'd disappeared since you left yesterday morning was eaten by those two. They even bought drinks for every hobbit in the bar."

"Guess that means you can finally have that new wing for the inn you've been wanting," Firiel could feel the excitement radiating off her boss.

"Oh, that'll come in time, Lass," Percy smiled, lugging his cookware to the dishpans, "What an order like this really means is that I may be able to buy my June something pretty as she for our anniversary. We'll be married thirty years next week."

"Wow," Firiel awed, "That's so wonderful. I can't imagine being with someone for thirty minutes, much less thirty years."

After taking out their largest pitcher full of ale to the brothers' table, and telling them to give a great holler should they need anything more, Firiel headed back into the kitchen once more. She moved quickly to her boss's side, pulling up her sleeves and shooing him from the washing. He had worked hard enough today, and would only be allowed to rinse and set the dishes to dry.

"By the way," Percy's ever-knowing voice smiled, "I noticed that there were two very small bowls of oatmeal and fruit on that order. Would my girls happen to have stayed with our guests by any chance?"

"That is, quite frankly, none of our business," Firiel replied lightly, elbow deep in suds.

"Well, I suppose it isn't," he chuckled a bit, "You just remind those two that, if ever they're in trouble, they can always count on me."

There was silence between the two friends for a while. They could hear the laughter of the dwarves and aforementioned daughters just beyond the double doors of the Green Dragon's great kitchen. It was made to accommodate an entire army of hobbits when evenings came and the food and drink began to flow. Percy had put his entire heart and soul into expanding the place once he took over from his father, just as he did with his family.

"I may get angry with them for running off with whoever they please, but it's more out of love than anything," he admitted softly as he rinsed the bacon pan, "I worry that they'll never find the right men for them if they continue to chase the wrong ones."

"If they're anything like their father, they are wise and strong enough to sort that out for themselves," Firiel assured him with a tiny smile.

"Speaking of men," Percy made an abrupt left turn in the conversation, "Do you ever think you might go back home to marry that man you told me about? The one your father picked out?"

Firiel was stunned by the question for a moment. She couldn't move; not even her hands dared to scrub another inch. Then, she resumed the task again, seemingly unshaken.

"No," she replied shortly, "Never."

Silence took hold again, but this one was bleaker, more agitated. Having been a husband for so long, Percy was not oblivious to it.

"I'm sorry," he said softly to her, "I know how you feel about that. And I full-well can't blame you either. I would feel the same. I was just wondering if your feelings had changed on the matter. Though it's better they haven't really. I honestly don't know what I'd do without all your help and hard work."

Firiel smiled. Percy was quite the gentle soul when it came right down to it.

"Not to worry, Percy," she reassured him, "I'm not going anywhere any time soon. I can't go home ever again after this, I don't think.

"And besides, I fear my poor uncle would surely die of boredom without me," she grinned cheekily, attempting to lighten both their spirits.

"No, I suppose your right," Percy chuckled in return, "You're good for that stubborn old naysayer anyways. My June always said he'd have made a good da."

"Yeah," Firiel sighed, "I think so too."

Once again the companionable silence returned, until suddenly Firiel realized that it was far too quiet in the dining room.

"Do you hear that?" she asked Percy.

"What?"

"Exactly."

No laughter came from the dining room, no sounds of eating (the brothers were rather loud scarffers). Not even a mouse dared to scurry over the floors. It made Firiel's chest and throat tighten nervously. Percy seemed to go very pale.

"Oh no," he mumbled, turning his eyes on the kitchen doors, "You don't suppose…?"

"No," Firiel said, though she quickly dropped her dishes and rushed towards the dining room.

She burst through the doors to find that her greatest fear had become a reality. For, with the exception of little tiny Arthur, who sat quietly at the bar drawing pictures of elves (at least his interpretation of elves) and dwarves, the whole dining area was empty. All that remained at that window-side table overlooking the river was a mountain of empty dishes and a tiny brown purse. She heard the kitchen doors swing open once again from behind her.

"Check the purse," Percy ordered, but Firiel was already gone to it.

As Percy gave his son gentle inquiries about the whereabouts of the four who had eaten, Firiel quickly dumped the purse onto a nearby, empty table. There were several gold coins inside, as well as a few jewels and a little note. Please consider this purse payment for your services, it read. Firiel snorted, throwing down the note in disgust.

"Well," Percy came up beside her, "According to Arthur, they waited until he had headed off to the bathroom, then all four of them must have taken off. Little fella was disappointed he didn't get to say goodbye, but he's fine otherwise. How much did they leave?"

"Enough to maybe cover the room and part of breakfast," Firiel sighed, "I hope they ponied up for last night already."

"That was going to be in their bill today," Percy paled once more, "We've been robbed. Cheated. Outwitted by a pair of greedy dwarves."

The little hobbit's shoulders rounded into a slouch, his eyes and expression downcast. This inn was his life, and provided for the livelihood of his family. It looked as though the weight of the world had just crashed down upon him.

"Let's try not to give up hope yet," Firiel put a little hand on his shoulder, attempting to cheer him up, "Petunia and Marigold are still with them, right? They may remember to remind them of the rest of the bill, or maybe they'll inquire about proper pay. For all we know, the brothers simply forgot about how much they owed."

Firiel knew it was a stretch, but it seemed to help Percy's funk a little. Her mind briefly turned to her own purse hidden under her skirts, filled with tips and pay, nearly enough to afford a pony for herself. It was a far-fetched dream of hers really, to have her own pony with which to ride about the countryside, but it was the first step towards that life of adventure she was working so hard to be able to afford. And she knew it would probably be just enough to cover the rest of what the dwarves owed poor Percy. It was an unfortunate crossroads that she wished would vanish.

"How about I run out and try to catch them?" Firiel suggested, "Chase them down and let them know it was short their actual total?"

"They came on ponies," Percy slumped down into a chair, "So I wouldn't bother. We'll have to leave our hopes with my girls. Hopefully, they actually have the thought pass through their heads. Just get those dishes cleaned up, and head home for the day. We'll have to close the kitchen now anyways."

Firiel bit her lip, but began gathering the dishes none the less. As she passed the miserable old man on her way to the kitchen, she stopped. A confounded tightness in her chest was preventing her from moving one step farther.

"…Curse my bleeding heart," she muttered, plopping the dishes down on the nearest table.

With as much discretion as she could muster, Firiel lifted up her outer skirt just enough to grab the purse that hung from her hips. It was rather heavy, which made Firiel's heart curse her mind for its selfishness. She didn't need all of this. Not when her dear friend and generous employer was so desperate at that moment. With his store so desolate for food, it would take him forever to earn back what he'd lost without her help. Percy lived from night to night, bill to bill. He was an honest man who never charged much more than he paid for the food. Just enough to feed his family and save a few pennies on the side.

"Here," she said, plopping it down in front of Percy, "You need this more than I do."

Percy's old, earthy eyes went wide as he picked up the purse, turning it over in his thick, furry fingers. He seemed as shocked by the weight as she had been.

"Firiel," he murmured, "I can't-."

"Save it and pick yourself up so you can get out to the market and restock before the evening comes," Firiel waved him off and picked up the dishes once more, "You'll have customers aplenty who'll be looking forward to your potato and haring soup."

She bustled back to the kitchen, hearing within moments a rather soft exclamation of multiple "thank you"s, followed by light, grateful sniffles. It hurt her a bit that she had just turned over all her savings, but what could she do? Besides, any bad feelings were greatly outweighed by the fact that the earlier tightness had now been replaced with light, happy, bubbly warmth.