wood, that lay outstretched far to North and South a day’s ride before
them, barring their way to the East, the terrible forest of Mirkwood.
     The dwarves listened and shook their beards, for they knew that they
must soon venture into that forest and that after the mountains it was
the worst of the perils they had to pass before they came to the
dragon’s stronghold. When dinner was over they began to tell tales of
their own, but Beorn seemed to be growing drowsy and paid little heed
to them. They spoke most of gold and silver and jewels and the making
of things by smith-craft, and Beorn did not appear to care for such
things: there were no things of gold or silver in his
     They sat long at the table with their wooden drinking-bowls filled
with mead. The dark night came on outside. The fires in the middle of
the hall were built with fresh logs and the torches were put out, and
still they sat in the light of the dancing flames with the pillars of
the house standing tall behind them, arid dark at the top like trees
of the forest. Whether it was magic or not, it seemed to Bilbo that he
heard a sound like wind in the branches stirring in the rafters, and
the hoot of owls. Soon he began to nod with sleep and the voices
seemed to grow far away, until he woke with a
     The great door had creaked and slammed. Beorn was gone. The dwarves