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the grey havens 1339<br />

dust left; so he went to the Three-Farthing Stone, which is<br />

as near the centre of the Shire as no matter, and cast it in the<br />

air with his blessing. The little silver nut he planted in the<br />

Party Field where the tree had once been; and he wondered<br />

what would come of it. All through the winter he remained<br />

as patient as he could, and tried to restrain himself from<br />

going round constantly to see if anything was happening.<br />

Spring surpassed his wildest hopes. His trees began to<br />

sprout and grow, as if time was in a hurry and wished to<br />

make one year do for twenty. In the Party Field a beautiful<br />

young sapling leaped up: it had silver bark and long leaves<br />

and burst into golden flowers in April. It was indeed a mallorn,<br />

and it was the wonder of the neighbourhood. In after years,<br />

as it grew in grace and beauty, it was known far and wide<br />

and people would come long journeys to see it: the only<br />

mallorn west of the Mountains and east of the Sea, and one<br />

of the finest in the world.<br />

Altogether 1420 in the Shire was a marvellous year. Not<br />

only was there wonderful sunshine and delicious rain, in<br />

due times and perfect measure, but there seemed something<br />

more: an air of richness and growth, and a gleam of a beauty<br />

beyond that of mortal summers that flicker and pass upon<br />

this Middle-earth. All the children born or begotten in that<br />

year, and there were many, were fair to see and strong, and<br />

most of them had a rich golden hair that had before been<br />

rare among hobbits. The fruit was so plentiful that young<br />

hobbits very nearly bathed in strawberries and cream; and<br />

later they sat on the lawns under the plum-trees and ate, until<br />

they had made piles of stones like small pyramids or the<br />

heaped skulls of a conqueror, and then they moved on. And<br />

no one was ill, and everyone was pleased, except those who<br />

had to mow the grass.<br />

In the Southfarthing the vines were laden, and the yield of<br />

‘leaf ’ was astonishing; and everywhere there was so much<br />

corn that at Harvest every barn was stuffed. The Northfarthing<br />

barley was so fine that the beer of 1420 malt was long

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