towers

of herbs and stewed rabbit 855
does, it does. I’m going to risk it, anyhow. I’m going to stew
these coneys.’
‘Stew the rabbits!’ squealed Gollum in dismay. ‘Spoil
beautiful meat Sméagol saved for you, poor hungry Sméagol!
What for? What for, silly hobbit? They are young, they are
tender, they are nice. Eat them, eat them!’ He clawed at the
nearest rabbit, already skinned and lying by the fire.
‘Now, now!’ said Sam. ‘Each to his own fashion. Our bread
chokes you, and raw coney chokes me. If you give me a
coney, the coney’s mine, see, to cook, if I have a mind. And
I have. You needn’t watch me. Go and catch another and eat
it as you fancy – somewhere private and out o’ my sight.
Then you won’t see the fire, and I shan’t see you, and we’ll
both be the happier. I’ll see the fire don’t smoke, if that’s any
comfort to you.’
Gollum withdrew grumbling, and crawled into the fern.
Sam busied himself with his pans. ‘What a hobbit needs with
coney,’ he said to himself, ‘is some herbs and roots, especially
taters – not to mention bread. Herbs we can manage,
seemingly.’
‘Gollum!’ he called softly. ‘Third time pays for all. I want
some herbs.’ Gollum’s head peeped out of the fern, but his
looks were neither helpful nor friendly. ‘A few bay-leaves,
some thyme and sage, will do – before the water boils,’ said
Sam.
‘No!’ said Gollum. ‘Sméagol is not pleased. And Sméagol
doesn’t like smelly leaves. He doesn’t eat grasses or roots, no
precious, not till he’s starving or very sick, poor Sméagol.’
‘Sméagol’ll get into real true hot water, when this water
boils, if he don’t do as he’s asked,’ growled Sam. ‘Sam’ll put
his head in it, yes precious. And I’d make him look for turnips
and carrots, and taters too, if it was the time o’ the year. I’ll
bet there’s all sorts of good things running wild in this
country. I’d give a lot for half a dozen taters.’
‘Sméagol won’t go, O no precious, not this time,’ hissed
Gollum. ‘He’s frightened, and he’s very tired, and this hobbit’s
not nice, not nice at all. Sméagol won’t grub for roots