Mr. Butterbur shook his head. ‘If there’s a few decent respectable folk on the roads, that won’t do no harm,’ he said. ‘But we don’t want no more rabble and ruffians. And we don’t want no outsiders at Bree, nor near Bree at all. We want to be let alone. I don’t want a whole crowd o’ strangers camping here and settling there and tearing up the wild country.’
‘You will be let alone, Barliman,’ said Gandalf. ‘There is room enough for realms between Isen and Greyflood, or along the shore-lands south of the Brandywine, without anyone living within many days’ ride of Bree. And many folk used to dwell away north, a hundred miles or more from here, at the far end of the Greenway: on the North Downs or by Lake Evendim.’
‘Up away by Deadmen’s Dike?’ said Butterbur, looking even more dubious. ‘That’s haunted land, they say. None but a robber would go there.’
‘The Rangers go there,’ said Gandalf. ‘Deadmen’s Dike, you say. So it has been called for long years; but its right name, Barliman, is Fornost Erain, Norbury of the Kings. And the King will come there again one day; and then you’ll have some fair folk riding through.’
‘Well, that sounds more hopeful, I’ll allow,’ said Butterbur. ‘And it will be good for business, no doubt. So long as he lets Bree alone.’
‘He will,’ said Gandalf. ‘He knows it and loves it.’
‘Does he now?’ said Butterbur looking puzzled. ‘Though I’m sure I don’t know why he should, sitting in his big chair up in his great castle, hundreds of miles away. And drinking wine out of a golden cup, I shouldn’t wonder. What’s The Pony to him, or mugs o’ beer? Not but what my beer’s good, Gandalf. It’s been uncommon good, since you came in the autumn of last year and put a good word on it. And that’s been a comfort in trouble, I will say.’
‘Ah!’ said Sam. ‘But he says your beer is always good.’
‘He says?’
‘Of course he does. He’s Strider. The chief of the Rangers. Haven’t you got that into your head yet?’
It went in at last, and Butterbur’s face was a study in wonder. The eyes in his broad face grew round, and his mouth opened wide, and he gasped. ‘Strider!’ he exclaimed when he got back his breath. ‘Him with a crown and all and a golden cup! Well, what are we coming to?’
‘Better times, for Bree at any rate,’ said Gandalf.
‘I hope so, I’m sure,’ said Butterbur. ‘Well, this has been the nicest chat I’ve had in a month of Mondays. And I’ll not deny that I’ll sleep easier tonight and with a lighter heart. You’ve given me a powerful lot to think over, but I’ll put that off until tomorrow. I’m for bed, and I’ve no doubt you’ll be glad of your beds too. Hey, Nob!’ he called, going to the door. ‘Nob, you slowcoach!’
‘Nob!’ he said to himself, slapping his forehead. ‘Now what does that remind me of?’
‘Not another letter you’ve forgotten, I hope, Mr. Butterbur?’ said Merry.
‘Now, now, Mr. Brandybuck, don’t go reminding me of that! But there, you’ve broken my thought. Now where was I? Nob, stables, ah! that was it. I’ve something that belongs to you. If you recollect Bill Ferny and the horsethieving: his pony as you bought, well, it’s here. Come back all of itself, it did. But where it had been to you know better than me. It was as shaggy as an old dog and as lean as a clothes-rail, but it was alive. Nob’s looked after it.’
‘What! My Bill?’ cried Sam. ‘Well, I was born lucky, whatever my gaffer may say. There’s another wish come true! Where is he?’ Sam would not go to bed until he had visited Bill in his stable.
The travellers stayed in Bree all the next day, and Mr. Butterbur could not complain of his business next evening at any rate. Curiosity overcame all fears, and his house was crowded. For a while out of politeness the hobbits visited the Common Room in the evening and answered a good many questions. Bree memories being retentive, Frodo was asked many times if he had written his book.
‘Not yet,’ he answered. ‘I am going home now to put my notes in order.’ He promised to deal with the amazing events at Bree, and so give a bit of interest to a book that appeared likely to treat mostly of the remote and less important affairs ‘away south’.
Then one of the younger folk called for a song. But at that a hush fell, and he was frowned down, and the call was not repeated. Evidently there was no wish for any uncanny events in the Common Room again.