he was stifling, even before his lid was on. Bilbo had done what he
could to close holes in the sides of the barrels, and to fix on all
the lids as safely as could be managed, and now he was left alone
again, running round putting the finishing touches-to the packing, and
hoping against hope that his plan would come off.
     It had not been a-bit too soon. Only a minute or two after Balin’s lid
had been fitted on there came the sound of voices and the flicker of
lights. A number of elves came laughing and talking into the cellars
and singing snatches of song. They had left a merry feast in one of
the halls and were bent on returning as soon as they could. “Where’s
old Galion, the butler?” said one. “I haven’t seen him at the tables
tonight. He ought to be here now to show us what is to be done.”
     “I shall be angry if the old slowcoach is late,” said another. “I have
no wish to waste time down here while the song is up!”
     “Ha, ha!” came a cry. “Here’s the old villain with his head on a jug!
     He’s been having a little feast all to himself and his friend the
captain.” “Shake him! Wake him!” shouted the others impatiently.
Gallon was not at all pleased at being shaken or wakened, and still
less at being
     “You’re all late,” he grumbled. “Here am I waiting and waiting down