The talk did not die down in  nine or even ninety-nine days.  

The second disappearance of Mr. Bilbo  Baggins was discussed in Hobbiton,  

and indeed all over the Shire, for a year  and a day, and was remembered much longer  

than that. It became a fireside-story for  young hobbits; and eventually Mad Baggins,  

who used to vanish with a bang and a flash  and reappear with bags of jewels and gold,  

became a favourite character of legend and lived  on long after all the true events were forgotten. 

But in the meantime, the general opinion  in the neighbourhood was that Bilbo,  

who had always been rather cracked, had at last  gone quite mad, and had run off into the Blue.  

There he had undoubtedly fallen into a  pool or a river and come to a tragic,  

but hardly an untimely, end. The  blame was mostly laid on Gandalf. 

'If only that dratted wizard will leave young  Frodo alone, perhaps he'll settle down and  

grow some hobbit-sense,' they said. And to all  appearance the wizard did leave Frodo alone,  

and he did settle down, but the growth of  hobbit-sense was not very noticeable. Indeed,  

he at once began to carry on Bilbo's reputation  for oddity. He refused to go into mourning;  

and the next year he gave a party in honour  of Bilbo's hundred-and-twelfth birthday,  

which he called a Hundred-weight Feast. But  that was short of the mark, for twenty guests  

were invited and there were several meals at which  it snowed food and rained drink, as hobbits say. 

Some people were rather shocked; but Frodo kept up  the custom of giving Bilbo's Birthday Party year  

after year until they got used to it. He said that  he did not think Bilbo was dead. When they asked:  

'Where is he then?' he shrugged his shoulders. He lived alone, as Bilbo had done; but he had  

a good many friends, especially among the younger  hobbits (mostly descendants of the Old Took) who  

had as children been fond of Bilbo and often in  and out of Bag End. Folco Boffin and Fredegar  

Bolger were two of these; but his closest friends  were Peregrin Took (usually called Pippin),  

and Merry Brandybuck (his real name was  Meriadoc, but that was seldom remembered).  

Frodo went tramping over the Shire with them;  but more often he wandered by himself, and to the  

amazement of sensible folk he was sometimes seen  far from home walking in the hills and woods under  

the starlight. Merry and Pippin suspected that  he visited the Elves at times, as Bilbo had done. 

As time went on, people began to notice that  Frodo also showed signs of good 'preservation':  

outwardly he retained the appearance of a robust  and energetic hobbit just out of his tweens.  

'Some folk have all the luck,' they  said; but it was not until Frodo  

approached the usually more sober age of  fifty that they began to think it queer. 

Frodo himself, after the first shock, found that  being his own master and the Mr. Baggins of Bag  

End was rather pleasant. For some years he was  quite happy and did not worry much about the  

future. But half unknown to himself the regret  that he had not gone with Bilbo was steadily  

growing. He found himself wondering at times,  especially in the autumn, about the wild lands,  

and strange visions of mountains that  he had never seen came into his dreams.  

He began to say to himself: 'Perhaps I  shall cross the River myself one day.' To  

which the other half of his  mind always replied: 'Not yet.' 

So it went on, until his forties were running out,  and his fiftieth birthday was drawing near: fifty  

was a number that he felt was somehow significant  (or ominous); it was at any rate at that age that  

adventure had suddenly befallen Bilbo. Frodo  began to feel restless, and the old paths  

seemed too well-trodden. He looked at maps, and  wondered what lay beyond their edges: maps made  

in the Shire showed mostly white spaces beyond  its borders. He took to wandering further afield  

and more often by himself; and Merry and his other  friends watched him anxiously. Often he was seen  

walking and talking with the strange wayfarers  that began at this time to appear in the Shire. 

There were rumours of strange things happening in  the world outside; and as Gandalf had not at that  

time appeared or sent any message for several  years, Frodo gathered all the news he could.  

Elves, who seldom walked in the Shire, could now  be seen passing westward through the woods in the  

evening, passing and not returning; but they were  leaving Middle-earth and were no longer concerned  

with its troubles. There were, however, dwarves on  the road in unusual numbers. The ancient East–West  

Road ran through the Shire to its end at the  Grey Havens, and dwarves had always used it on  

their way to their mines in the Blue Mountains.  They were the hobbits' chief source of news from  

distant parts – if they wanted any: as a rule  dwarves said little and hobbits asked no more.  

But now Frodo often met strange dwarves of far  countries, seeking refuge in the West. They  

were troubled, and some spoke in whispers  of the Enemy and of the Land of Mordor. 

That name the hobbits only knew in legends of  the dark past, like a shadow in the background  

of their memories; but it was ominous and  disquieting. It seemed that the evil power  

in Mirkwood had been driven out by the White  Council only to reappear in greater strength in  

the old strongholds of Mordor. The Dark Tower  had been rebuilt, it was said. From there the  

power was spreading far and wide, and away far  east and south there were wars and growing fear.  

Orcs were multiplying again in the mountains.  Trolls were abroad, no longer dull-witted,  

but cunning and armed with dreadful weapons.  And there were murmured hints of creatures more  

terrible than all these, but they had no name. Little of all this, of course, reached the ears  

of ordinary hobbits. But even the deafest and  most stay-at-home began to hear queer tales;  

and those whose business took them to the borders  saw strange things. The conversation in The Green  

Dragon at Bywater, one evening in the spring of  Frodo's fiftieth year, showed that even in the  

comfortable heart of the Shire rumours had been  heard, though most hobbits still laughed at them. 

Sam Gamgee was sitting in one corner near  the fire, and opposite him was Ted Sandyman,  

the miller's son; and there were various  other rustic hobbits listening to their talk. 

'Queer things you do hear these  days, to be sure,' said Sam. 

'Ah,' said Ted, 'you do, if you listen. But I  can hear fireside-tales and children's stories  

at home, if I want to.' 'No doubt you can,'  

retorted Sam, 'and I daresay there's more truth  in some of them than you reckon. Who invented  

the stories anyway? Take dragons now.' 'No thank 'ee,' said Ted, 'I won't.  

I heard tell of them when I was a youngster,  but there's no call to believe in them now.  

There's only one Dragon in Bywater, and that's  Green,' he said, getting a general laugh. 

'All right,' said Sam, laughing with the rest.  'But what about these Tree-men, these giants,  

as you might call them? They do say that one  bigger than a tree was seen up away beyond the  

North Moors not long back.' 'Who's they?' 

'My cousin Hal for one. He works for Mr.  Boffin at Overhill and goes up to the  

Northfarthing for the hunting. He saw one.' 'Says he did, perhaps. Your Hal's always  

saying he's seen things; and maybe  he sees things that ain't there.' 

'But this one was as big as an elm  tree, and walking – walking seven  

yards to a stride, if it was an inch.' 'Then I bet it wasn't an inch. What he  

saw was an elm tree, as like as not.' 'But this one was walking, I tell you;  

and there ain't no elm tree on the North Moors.' 'Then Hal can't have seen one,' said Ted. There  

was some laughing and clapping: the audience  seemed to think that Ted had scored a point. 

'All the same,' said Sam, 'you can't deny that  others besides our Halfast have seen queer folk  

crossing the Shire – crossing it, mind you: there  are more that are turned back at the borders. The  

Bounders have never been so busy before. 'And I've heard tell that Elves are moving  

west. They do say they are going to the  harbours, out away beyond the White Towers.'  

Sam waved his arm vaguely: neither he nor  any of them knew how far it was to the Sea,  

past the old towers beyond the western borders  of the Shire. But it was an old tradition that  

away over there stood the Grey Havens, from which  at times elven-ships set sail, never to return. 

'They are sailing, sailing, sailing over the Sea,  

they are going into the West and leaving us,'  said Sam, half chanting the words, shaking  

his head sadly and solemnly. But Ted laughed. 'Well, that isn't anything new, if you believe the  

old tales. And I don't see what it matters to me  or you. Let them sail! But I warrant you haven't  

seen them doing it; nor anyone else in the Shire.' 'Well, I don't know,' said Sam thoughtfully.  

He believed he had once seen an Elf in the  woods, and still hoped to see more one day.  

Of all the legends that he had heard in his early  years such fragments of tales and half-remembered  

stories about the Elves as the hobbits  knew, had always moved him most deeply.  

'There are some, even in these parts, as know  the Fair Folk and get news of them,' he said.  

'There's Mr. Baggins now, that I work for. He told  me that they were sailing and he knows a bit about  

Elves. And old Mr. Bilbo knew more: many's the  talk I had with him when I was a little lad.' 

'Oh, they're both cracked,' said Ted. 'Leastways  old Bilbo was cracked, and Frodo's cracking.  

If that's where you get your news  from, you'll never want for moonshine.  

Well, friends, I'm off home. Your good health!'  He drained his mug and went out noisily. 

Sam sat silent and said no more. He had a good  deal to think about. For one thing, there was a  

lot to do up in the Bag End garden, and he would  have a busy day tomorrow, if the weather cleared.  

The grass was growing fast. But Sam  had more on his mind than gardening.  

After a while he sighed, and got up and went out. 

It was early April and the sky  was now clearing after heavy rain.  

The sun was down, and a cool pale evening  was quietly fading into night. He walked  

home under the early stars through Hobbiton and  up the Hill, whistling softly and thoughtfully. 

It was just at this time that Gandalf reappeared  after his long absence. For three years after the  

Party he had been away. Then he paid Frodo a  brief visit, and after taking a good look at  

him he went off again. During the next year or two  he had turned up fairly often, coming unexpectedly  

after dusk, and going off without warning before  sunrise. He would not discuss his own business  

and journeys, and seemed chiefly interested  in small news about Frodo's health and doings. 

Then suddenly his visits had ceased. It was over  nine years since Frodo had seen or heard of him,  

and he had begun to think that the wizard  would never return and had given up  

all interest in hobbits. But that evening, as  Sam was walking home and twilight was fading,  

there came the once familiar  tap on the study window. 

Frodo welcomed his old friend with surprise and  great delight. They looked hard at one another. 

'All well eh?' said Gandalf. 'You  look the same as ever, Frodo!' 

'So do you,' Frodo replied; but secretly he  thought that Gandalf looked older and more  

careworn. He pressed him for news of himself  and of the wide world, and soon they were deep  

in talk, and they stayed up far into the night. Next morning after a late breakfast, the wizard  

was sitting with Frodo by the open window of  the study. A bright fire was on the hearth,  

but the sun was warm, and the wind was  in the South. Everything looked fresh,  

and the new green of spring was shimmering in  the fields and on the tips of the trees' fingers. 

Gandalf was thinking of a spring, nearly  eighty years before, when Bilbo had run out  

of Bag End without a handkerchief. His hair  was perhaps whiter than it had been then,  

and his beard and eyebrows were perhaps longer,  and his face more lined with care and wisdom; but  

his eyes were as bright as ever, and he smoked and  blew smoke-rings with the same vigour and delight. 

He was smoking now in silence, for Frodo  was sitting still, deep in thought.  

Even in the light of morning he felt the dark  shadow of the tidings that Gandalf had brought.  

At last he broke the silence. 'Last night you began to  

tell me strange things about my ring,  Gandalf,' he said. 'And then you stopped,  

because you said that such matters were best  left until daylight. Don't you think you had  

better finish now? You say the ring is dangerous,  far more dangerous than I guess. In what way?' 

'In many ways,' answered the wizard. 'It is far  more powerful than I ever dared to think at first,  

so powerful that in the end it would utterly  overcome anyone of mortal race who possessed it.  

It would possess him. 'In Eregion long ago many Elven-rings were made,  

magic rings as you call them, and they  were, of course, of various kinds:  

some more potent and some less. The lesser  rings were only essays in the craft before  

it was full-grown, and to the Elven-smiths  they were but trifles – yet still to my mind  

dangerous for mortals. But the Great Rings,  the Rings of Power, they were perilous. 

'A mortal, Frodo, who keeps one of the Great  Rings, does not die, but he does not grow or  

obtain more life, he merely continues, until at  last every minute is a weariness. And if he often  

uses the Ring to make himself invisible, he fades:  he becomes in the end invisible permanently,  

and walks in the twilight under the eye  of the Dark Power that rules the Rings.  

Yes, sooner or later – later, if he is  strong or well-meaning to begin with,  

but neither strength nor good purpose will last –  sooner or later the Dark Power will devour him.' 

'How terrifying!' said Frodo.  There was another long silence.  

The sound of Sam Gamgee cutting  the lawn came in from the garden. 

'How long have you known this?' asked Frodo  at length. 'And how much did Bilbo know?' 

'Bilbo knew no more than he told you, I am  sure,' said Gandalf. 'He would certainly never