“My turn,” Pippin said. He strode over to the writing desk and retrieved the next letter from the stack. In deed, it was addressed to Pippin. He was a bit nervous, as his reading skills were nothing near as good as any of his numerous siblings. And he knew that Frodo Baggins’s writings were notoriously full of snippets of Elvish and strange words in foreign languages. He tried to hide his nervousness, but his hands shook slightly as he unfolded the paper.

“Let me know if you need any help,” Bilbo whispered to his brother and winked.

Pippin smiled weakly and started into the ordeal.

To Pippin:

Dear Pippin,

You are very much like your Uncle Hamson, a gentlehobbit I knew as a lad and loved as an adult. A skilled craftsman with rope, twine, cane and wood. Your father is very proud of you, as am I. The world needs more people such as yourself. Good, descent, honest and trustworthy. Very much like your father and his favorite brother. A lover of the Shire itself. Its woods and fields. The earth and animals. Good food, good beer and plenty of laughter.

Gentle son of Samwise the Brave. I give you a new name, if you will have it: Pippin Shireheart. Stay true to your calling. It is honorable and satisfying. The working with the hands. The feel of your muscles as they twist the rope. The smell of cane fresh from cutting. The smell of varnish and wax. The taste of cold beer and sharp cheese at the end of a long day of work. Your wife in your arms in the cool of the evening. This, dearest Pippin. This is why your father and I went on our Quest. To preserve this way of life. To keep the Shire alive and free so that hobbits like you can work in peace.

And work you shall. All the days of your life. Hard work. But satisfying work. For without people like you, the Shire would not be the Shire, and life would not get along. And you would wither if you ever stopped working, for it is your love.

Do not fret over what others may have that you do not. Be content with knowing your own heart first. Know that you have something most people never find: the love of your soul mate, the respect of your fellow craftsmen, and the happiness of our own unquenchable spirit.

But enough of my ramblings. I do have something for you besides a new name. Something a bit more useful. Look in the chest at the foot of the bed. There is a wooden box with your name on it. It is a set of matching woodworking knives, planes, routers, gouges and chisels. There are more items in the box under the false floor. The needles, brushes, stakes and glues are down below. They are all Elvish made. As long as you keep them in their leather holsters within the wooden box, they will remain sharp without need for whetstone.

Much love,
Uncle Frodo

Pippin choked out the last few lines, the emotions of what he was reading about himself finally overtaking his ability to read and speak. Primrose opened the chest and retrieved a rather large wooden box. She presented it to her brother, who was completely speechless by now.

The chest was made of the finest cherry, deep stained and hand-rubbed to a glowing finish. Inlaid into the top of the box was his name written in fine block print using mother-of-pearl. Artistic curls framed the latch and key. Pippin knelt down on the rag rug and placed the tool box before him. He turned the little iron key, and the box opened.

Hamfast whistled in appreciation. The leather holsters were still soft and supple after all the decades it had lain in the chest. Inside each holster was a perfectly made tool for either woodworking, rope-making, or furniture-making. Sharp and bright they were, gleaming softly in the darkness of the leather-lined case. Two leather tabs came up from the bottom and lay against the sides of the box. Pippin gently pulled up on the tabs, and the top layer of the work chest effortlessly pulled up. He respectfully placed the top tray on the rug, and peered inside. Artists brushes, needles and miniature tools nestled in their case. Tools for the finest work.

Faramir came over an knelt down to take a better look. “May I?” he asked, indicating that he wanted to take one of the knives out of its housing to look at it more closely. Pippin nodded. Faramir stood and brought the largest blade into the light. He also whistled. “The tools themselves are works of art.”

Goldilocks looked at Hamfast, who smiled slightly. Perhaps there was hope for Faramir after all.

“Wonder where these were made?” Daisy asked, taking a small knife out of its holster and testing it against her thumbnail. A thin sliver curled against the blade. “Wow. Uncle Hamson would have loved these!”

Elanor took a close look at the handle on one of the chisels. “This has the same markings as on my book. Pippin, I think these are also from Rivendell.”

Pippin carefully put the tools back in their holsters and replaced the top shelf into the box. He closed the lid and locked it, putting the key in his coat pocket. He cleared his tight throat. “I’m going to make that rocking pony I promised you, Ruby,” he smiled. “Got me some fine tools now. Think I’ll give my old tools to young Harry Roper. He can’t afford a whole set. Now he can get mine for free.”

“I think the new name becomes you, Pippin,” Merry said.

“Well, now, I think I’ll keep me old one,” Pippin smiled. “Worked for Dad and his Dad. Works for me. Meaning no disrespect to Uncle Frodo. But I’ll just stay Pippin Gamgee for now.”