the town sprang from his great chair. But none rose in greater
surprise than the raft-men of the elves who were sitting at the lower
end of the hall. Pressing forward before the Master’s table they
cried:
     “These are prisoners of our king that have escaped, wandering vagabond
dwarves that could not give any good account of themselves, sneaking
through the woods and molesting our people!”
     “Is this true?” asked the Master. As a matter of fact he thought it
far more likely than the return of the King under the Mountain, if any
such person had ever existed.
     “It is true that we were wrongfully waylaid by the Elven-king and
imprisoned without cause as we journeyed back to our own land,”
answered Thorin. “But lock nor bar may hinder the homecoming spoken of
old. Nor is this town in the Wood-elves’ realm. I speak to the Master
of the town of the Men of the lake, not to the raft-men of the king.”
     Then the Master hesitated and looked from one to the other. The
Elvenking was very powerful in those parts and the Master wished for
no enmity with him, nor did he think much of old songs, giving his
mind to .trade and tolls, to cargoes and gold, to which habit he owed
his position. Others were of different mind, however, and quickly the