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In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.
This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected.
Not that Belladonna Took ever had any adventures after she became Mrs. Bungo Baggins.
When he got back Balin and Dwalin were talking at the table like old friends (as a matter of fact they were brothers).
“Kili at your service!” said the one. “And Fili!” added the other; and they both swept off their blue hoods and bowed.
one after another. Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, and Gloin were their names; and very soon two purple hoods, a grey hood, a brown hood, and a white hood were hanging on the pegs,
Let me introduce Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, and especially Thorin!”
Thorin, an enormously important dwarf, in fact no other than the great Thorin Oakenshield himself,
Far over the misty mountains cold To dungeons deep and caverns old We must away ere break of day To seek the pale enchanted gold. The dwarves of yore made mighty spells, While hammers fell like ringing bells In places deep, where dark things sleep, In hollow halls beneath the fells. For ancient king and elvish lord There many a gleaming golden hoard They shaped and wrought, and light they caught To hide in gems on hilt of sword. On silver necklaces they strung The flowering stars, on crowns they hung The dragon-fire, in twisted wire They meshed the light of moon and sun. Far over the misty
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He shuddered; and very quickly he was plain Mr. Baggins of Bag-End, Under-Hill, again.
Burglar wants a good job, plenty of Excitement and reasonable Reward, that’s how it is usually read.
I have chosen Mr. Baggins and that ought to be enough for all of you. If I say he is a Burglar, a Burglar he is, or will be when the time comes.
King under the Mountain
There was a most specially greedy, strong and wicked worm called Smaug.
They could hear the voice of hurrying water in a rocky bed at the bottom;
Elrond knew all about runes of every kind.
“There are moon-letters here, beside the plain runes which say ‘five feet high the door and three may walk abreast.’”
They can only be seen when the moon shines behind them,
“Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks,” read Elrond, “and the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the key-hole.”
He wished again and again for his nice bright hobbit-hole. Not for the last time.
till suddenly his hand met what felt like a tiny ring of cold metal lying on the floor of the tunnel. It was a turning point in his career, but he did not know it.
He was Gollum—as dark as darkness, except for two big round pale eyes in his thin face.
And when he said gollum he made a horrible swallowing noise in his throat. That is how he got his name, though he always called himself ‘my precious’.
No-legs lay on one-leg, two-legs sat near on three-legs, four-legs got some.
“It isn’t fair, my precious, is it, to ask us what it’s got in its nassty little pocketses?”
“What has it got in its pocketses? Tell us that. It must tell first.”
“What has it got in its pocketses?”
My birthday-present.”
“Thief, thief, thief! Baggins! We hates it, we hates it, we hates it for ever!”
“After all he is my friend,” said the wizard, “and not a bad little chap. I feel responsible for him. I wish to goodness you had not lost him.”
“May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks,”
All the time he was wondering whether there were spiders in the tree, and how he was going to get down again (except by falling).
Then the great spider, who had been busy tying him up while he dozed, came from behind him and came at him. He could only see the thing’s eyes, but he could feel its hairy legs as it struggled to wind its abominable threads round and round him.
“I will give you a name,” he said to it, “and I shall call you Sting.”
Poor Mr. Baggins—it was a weary long time that he lived in that place all alone, and always in hiding, never daring to take off his ring, hardly daring to sleep, even tucked away in the darkest and remotest corners he could find.
There is no need to tell you much of his adventures that night, for now we are drawing near the end of the eastward journey and coming to the last and greatest adventure, so we must hurry on.
the river was guarded by the Wood-elves’ king.
Indeed within a week they were quite recovered, fitted out in fine cloth of their proper colours, with beards combed and trimmed, and proud steps.
The only person thoroughly unhappy was Bilbo.
They were come to the Desolation of the Dragon,
they did not doubt that they had found the door at last.
but each of them took a good coil of rope wound tight about his waist, and so at last without mishap they reached the little grassy bay.
they used to call the little grassy space between the wall and the opening the “doorstep” in fun,
They shall see me and remember who is the real King under the Mountain!”
It was of silver-steel, which the elves call mithril,
“Arrow!” said the bowman. “Black arrow!
Smaug shot spouting into the air, turned over and crashed down from on high in ruin.
And that was the end of Smaug and Esgaroth, but not of Bard.
“King Bard! King Bard!” they shouted; but the Master ground his chattering teeth.
How much Gandalf knew cannot be said, but it is plain that he had not expected this sudden assault.
