Bilbo greeted his hired gardener and offered his sincerest blessings.
"Sam, what a healthy little lad. He'll grow up to be a strong one."
Looking at the plump little fellow, he couldn't help but smile warmly.
But after seeing the child and offering his good wishes, just as he was about to turn, open the gate, and leave the lively household to return to his own home, he inexplicably sighed softly.
Looking down at the slightly loose skin on the back of his hand, Bilbo suddenly realized that he was no longer young. And now, he was still alone, living by himself in Bag End, a leisurely, quiet... and rather spacious Bag End.
Shaking his head to dismiss those wandering thoughts, he went back home, sat once again in his favorite armchair, watched the scenery, gazed at the sun slowly setting beyond the horizon, and, as always, murmured with feeling:
"What a fine day it is today."
Far away at Brandywine Bridge, the Brandybuck family thought much the same.
Indeed, it was a joyful day. That evening, a cheerful feast was being held at Brandy Hall, and as one of the heartiest eaters among nearby hobbits, Drogo certainly wouldn't miss it.
So he took his wife and child along, and the family ate and drank to their hearts' content.
Twelve-year-old Frodo also had a wonderful time playing with the other children. By the time they got home, he was so tired that he collapsed onto his bed and fell fast asleep. But while Frodo slept soundly, Drogo and Primula were far from sleepy.
Looking at the clear night sky, watching the sun sink and the moon rise, a sudden thought came to them.
"Let's go boating!"
With cheeks slightly flushed from the evening's festivities, Drogo imitated a poet's tone and said, "Look! The Brandywine River, how beautiful the moonlight is upon it, how brightly the stars are shining. If we could drift along that river tonight, even our dreams would be filled with beauty."
Clearly, the fellow had enjoyed more than a few drinks at the Brandywine Bridge feast.
Coincidentally, his wife had as well.
"Then let's go now!" Primula agreed at once.
And so, the two of them left Frodo sleeping at home and headed straight for the river.
They sang on the boat, laughed on the boat, danced on the boat, and then the boat overturned.
"Help!!"
The cries echoed out, startling the bushes nearby.
"What's happening over there?"
A Ranger poked his head out from his watch post, looking toward the riverbank.
Another companion with sharper eyes followed his gaze and immediately stood up. "Someone's drowning! Don't just stand there!"
They rushed over, plunged into the river, and with great effort pulled the two rather round hobbits to shore.
"Thank the stars they're all right."
Watching the rescued couple sobbing and clinging to each other on the riverbank, the two exhausted Rangers lay back on the grass, droplets falling from their foreheads. It was hard to tell whether it was river water or sweat.
That night's commotion startled many people, and news of Drogo Baggins and his wife nearly drowning spread quickly.
After all, this was the Shire, the most peaceful place in all Middle-earth. People here had plenty of idle time, and by the next day the story had already reached the neighboring town's neighboring town's neighboring town, which is to say, Hobbiton.
"Boats are nothing but trouble. Even if you sit still on one, something's bound to go wrong sooner or later."
Sam's father, the gardener Hamfast Gamgee, remarked to Bilbo during a chat.
"Lucky those two Rangers happened to be nearby, otherwise Frodo would've been orphaned at just twelve years old."
Compared to Hamfast, Bilbo was focused on another thought.
"That poor child would have been so alone."
The mere idea made Bilbo shake his head with concern. Thank goodness, thank goodness it hadn't come to that.
"But honestly, that couple acted truly irresponsibly. Grown as they are, and yet they could still do something as foolish as leaving their child home alone to go boating at night."
Bilbo thought silently.
"No, I can't just let this pass. As Drogo's cousin, I must have a proper talk with him."
Once that thought took hold, he couldn't sit still. Within a few days, he dressed neatly, took up his walking stick, and set off eastward toward Brandywine Bridge.
To be fair, Drogo wasn't young anymore. He was seventy-two now.
Yes, when Frodo was born, his father had already been sixty, and his mother twelve years younger. Now, the two of them, one seventy-two, the other sixty, were hardly in their youth.
As for Bilbo... he could already be called remarkably long-lived. He was ninety now, one of the oldest hobbits in all the Shire. And yet, even so, the old hobbit was still lively and full of energy.
It was, frankly, a bit of a mystery to his neighbors.
But no matter how energetic he was, he was no longer a young hobbit.
Even Bilbo himself sighed. From Hobbiton to Brandywine Bridge, he'd been walking the whole afternoon and still hadn't arrived.
In the old days, especially on that journey to the Lonely Mountain, even if Thorin and the others had ridden ahead for half a morning, he could still catch up with the company before lunch.
"Phew..."
At dusk, Bilbo let out a long breath and sat down by the river.
Yes, it was the Brandywine River, the very place where Drogo and his wife had nearly drowned.
Across the river lay Buckland, but before crossing, he thought he'd better rest a while.
"Help!!"
Just as Bilbo settled down, a sudden cry rang out. The voice came from somewhere distant, drawing nearer. It seemed to come from the opposite bank.
"What's that noise?"
He immediately stood up, gripping his walking stick tightly. He took a few steps forward, squinting across the river in the fading light. And at that moment, he could no longer stay calm.
He saw three vicious dogs chasing a small figure, as if they wouldn't stop until they'd caught their prey.
And the one they were chasing was none other than Frodo.
"Over here!"
Bilbo ran straight across the bridge, heading toward where Frodo was on the far side.
At the sound of that familiar voice, Frodo's eyes lit up with desperate hope. He scrambled forward, stumbling, and threw himself at Bilbo, clutching his clothes tightly. "Quick, we must run!"
"Don't be afraid!" Bilbo pulled Frodo behind him protectively, raised his walking stick, and shouted furiously at the three large dogs before him:
"Ha! You wicked beasts, get back! I've faced down a dragon before. Do you think I'd be afraid of you? If you know what's good for you, you'll turn tail and run home this instant!"
And strangely enough, perhaps Bilbo truly did carry a certain presence about him, for the three fierce dogs actually hesitated. They growled and barked threateningly, but slowly began to retreat. After a tense moment, they turned and ran back the way they'd come.
"Just a few mutts. Any one of the foes I've faced before would have scared you witless."
Muttering to himself, Bilbo made sure the dogs were truly gone before crouching down to check on Frodo. And as he looked, his heart softened completely.
The boy's feet were caked in mud, his clothes were torn at the corner, and there was dirt smudged on his face. He looked utterly bedraggled and pathetic.
He was shaking all over, so frightened that he could hardly stand on his own.
"It's all right now. The danger's passed. Tell me what happened?"
Under Bilbo's gentle voice, Frodo finally calmed down somewhat. He stretched out his hand and opened his palm.
Inside were two slightly crushed mushrooms.
"Ah..."
Bilbo frowned slightly. It was clear this wasn't as simple as it appeared.
"These are the fine mushrooms from Bamfurlong Farm, aren't they? You went to Farmer Maggot's place to steal mushrooms?"
Frodo nodded.
Bilbo tapped him lightly on the head, looking thoroughly exasperated.
The mushrooms from Bamfurlong were famously delicious throughout the Shire, and Farmer Maggot, their owner, kept three fierce dogs specifically to guard them from young trespassers.
For a little boy, sneaking in was certainly mischievous, but Bilbo couldn't really blame Maggot either. The boy had been clearly in the wrong.
"Ah..."
Seeing Frodo shivering and on the verge of tears, Bilbo couldn't bear to scold him any further. He sighed, turned around, and crouched down with his back to the boy.
"Come on. I was just on my way to visit your home anyway. We'll go together."
And so Bilbo carried little Frodo on his back and set off eastward once more toward Buckland.
"You said you once faced a dragon," Frodo asked after a while, "Is that really true?"
At that question, Bilbo's words began to flow freely, as they always did when someone asked about his adventures.
"Of course it's true! Back in Erebor, the lost kingdom of the Dwarves, I, Garrett, and Thorin Oakenshield himself stood before a dragon taller than a windmill when it rose to its full height..."
Bilbo went on telling the story as they walked, and Frodo, listening from his perch on Bilbo's back, was utterly entranced, imagining every scene vividly.
"You knew Garrett?" Frodo suddenly asked.
"Yes indeed. Haven't your parents ever told you? You met him once, on the very day you were born, in fact. That was my birthday too, you know. Garrett came all the way from Wayfort just to visit me."
"Wayfort! I know that place! That's where the two Rangers who saved my father and mother live!"
At that revelation, Frodo stopped trembling entirely and grew excited instead.
His parents had never told him much about those events, and today was the first time he'd learned about Bilbo's connection to Garrett.
"Can you tell me more of your stories?"
"Perhaps another time."
By now, they had reached Drogo's house. Bilbo set Frodo down carefully and caught his breath.
"Oh, Frodo! Dear Frodo! Where have you been? We were so worried!"
From inside the house, two voices called out as Drogo and Primula came hurrying toward them, throwing their arms around their son in relief.
"You two..."
Bilbo said, half exasperated, half relieved at seeing the family reunited.
"Inside, both of you! I intend to have a serious talk with you about your recent behavior!"