第148页

"Hail!  Thorin,"  he  said  as  he  entered.  "I  have  brought  him."

There  indeed  lay  Thorin  Oakenshield,  wounded  with  many  wounds,  and  his  rent  armour  and  notched  axe  were  cast  upon  the  floor.  He  looked  up  as  Bilbo  came  beside  him.

"Farewell,  good  thief,"  he  said.  "I  go  now  to  the  halls  of  waiting  to  sit  beside  my  fathers,  until  the  world  is  renewed.  Since  I  leave  now  all  gold  and  silver,  and  go  where  it  is  of  little  worth,  I  wish  to  part  in  friendship  from  you,  and  I  would  take  back  my  words  and  deeds  at  the  Gate."

Bilbo  knelt  on  one  knee  filled  with  sorrow.  "Farewell,  King  under  the  Mountain!"  he  said.  "This  is  a  bitter  adventure,  if  it  must  end  so;  and  not  a  mountain  of  gold  can  amend  it.  Yet  I  am  glad  that  I  have  shared  in  your  perils  —  that  has  been  more  than  any  Baggins  deserves."

"No!"  said  Thorin.  "There  is  more  in  you  of  good  than  you  know,  child  of  the  kindly  West.  Some  courage  and  some  wisdom,  blended  in  measure.  If  more  of  us  valued  food  and  cheer  and  song  above  hoarded  gold,  it  would  be  a  merrier  world.  But  sad  or  merry,  I  must  leave  it  now.  Farewell!"

Then  Bilbo  turned  away,  and  he  went  by  himself,  and  sat  alone  wrapped  in  a  blanket,  and,  whether  you  believe  it  or  not,  he  wept  until  his  eyes  were  red  and  his  voice  was  hoarse.  He  was  a  kindly  little  soul.  Indeed  it  was  long  before  he  had  the  heart  to  make  a  joke  again.  "A  mercy  it  is,"  he  said  at  last  to  himself,  "that  I  woke  up  when  I  did.  I  wish  Thorin  were  living,  but  I  am  glad  that  we  parted  in  kindness.  You  are  a  fool,  Bilbo  Baggins,  and  you  made  a  great  mess  of  that  business  with  the  stone;  and  there  was  a  battle,  in  spite  of  all  your  efforts  to  buy  peace  and  quiet,  but  I  suppose  you  can  hardly  be  blamed  for  that."

All  that  had  happened  after  he  was  stunned,  Bilbo  learned  later;  but  it  gave  him  more  sorrow  than  joy,  and  he  was  now  weary  of  his  adventure.  He  was  aching  in  his  bones  for  the  homeward  journey.  That,  however,  was  a  little  delayed,  so  in  the  meantime  I  will  tell  something  of  events.  The  Eagles  had  long  had  suspicion  of  the  goblins'  mustering;  from  their  watchfulness  the  movements  in  the  mountains  could  not  be  altogether  hid.  So  they  too  had  gathered  in  great  numbers,  under  the  great  Eagle  of  the  Misty  Mountains;  and  at  length  smelling  battle  from  afar  they  had  come  speeding  down  the  gale  in  the  nick  of  time.  They  it  was  who  dislodged  the  goblins  from  the  mountain-slopes,  casting  them  over  precipices,  or  driving  them  down  shrieking  and  bewildered  among  their  foes.  It  was  not  long  before  they  had  freed  the  Lonely  Mountain,  and  elves  and  men  on  either  side  of  the  valley  could  come  at  last  to  the  help  of  the  battle  below.

But  even  with  the  Eagles  they  were  still  outnumbered.

In  that  last  hour  Beorn  himself  had  appeared  —  no  one  knew  how  or  from  where.  He  came  alone,  and  in  bear's  shape;  and  he  seemed  to  have  grown  almost  to  giant-size  in  his  wrath.  The  roar  of  his  voice  was  like  drums  and  guns;  and  he  tossed  wolves  and  goblins  from  his  path  like  straws  and  feathers.  He  fell  upon  their  rear,  and  broke  like  a  clap  of  thunder  through  the  ring.  The  dwarves  were  making  a  stand  still  about  their  lords  upon  a  low  rounded  hill.  Then  Beorn  stooped  and  lifted  Thorin,  who  had  fallen  pierced  with  spears,  and  bore  him  out  of  the  fray.  Swiftly  he  returned  and  his  wrath  was  redoubled,  so  that  nothing  could  withstand  him,  and  no  weapon  seemed  to  bite  upon  him.  He  scattered  the  bodyguard,  and  pulled  down  Bolg  himself  and  crushed  him.  Then  dismay  fell  on  the  Goblins  and  they  fled  in  all  directions.  But  weariness  left  their  enemies  with  the  coming  of  new  hope,  and  they  pursued  them  closely,  and  prevented  most  of  them  from  escaping  where  they  could.  They  drove  many  of  them  into  the  Running  River,  and  such  as  fled  south  or  west  they  hunted  into  the  marshes  about  the  Forest  River;  and  there  the  greater  part  of  the  last  fugitives  perished,  while  those  that  came  hardly  to  the  Wood-elves'  realm  were  there  slain,  or  drawn  in  to  die  in  the  trackless  dark  of  Mirkwood.  Songs  have  said  that  three  parts  of  the  goblin  warriors  of  the  North  perished  on  that  day,  and  the  mountains  had  peace  for  many  a  year.