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Bottom of the Bin
“Dear Marigold,” it said, in her brother’s careful hand,
“I haven’t leave to tell you why, and I won’t, in case you find this before the flour’s gone, but like as not you already know I’ve gone a mite farther than Crickhollow. Mr. Frodo’s got to go, you see, and I’m to go with him and how far and how long is more than I know. But I’m like to see Elves, if Gandalf don’t turn me into a toad for writing you. Tell them that might miss me that I’m sorry I didn’t say more. Especially Dad.”
“Love, Samwise.”
( links )
“Dear Marigold,” it said, in her brother’s careful hand,
“I haven’t leave to tell you why, and I won’t, in case you find this before the flour’s gone, but like as not you already know I’ve gone a mite farther than Crickhollow. Mr. Frodo’s got to go, you see, and I’m to go with him and how far and how long is more than I know. But I’m like to see Elves, if Gandalf don’t turn me into a toad for writing you. Tell them that might miss me that I’m sorry I didn’t say more. Especially Dad.”
“Love, Samwise.”
( links )
