The Hobbit

they usually have a good
     notion of the current market value; and they can’t make a thing for themselves, not even mend a little loose scale of their
     armour. There were lots of dragons in the North in those days, and gold was probably getting scarce up there, with the dwarves flying south or getting killed, and all the general waste and destruction that dragons make going from bad
     to worse. There was a most specially greedy, strong and wicked worm called Smaug. One day he flew up into the air and came
     south. The first we heard of it was a noise like a hurricane coming from the North, and the pine-trees on the Mountain creaking
     and cracking in the wind. Some of the dwarves who happened to be outside (I was one luckily—a fine adventurous lad in those
     days, always wandering about, and it saved my life that day)—well, from a good way off we saw the dragon settle on our mountain
     in a spout of flame. Then he came down the slopes and when he reached the woods they all went up in fire. By that time all
     the bells were ringing in Dale and the warriors were arming. The dwarves rushed out of their great gate; but there was the
     dragon waiting for them. None escaped that way. The river rushed up in steam and a fog fell on Dale, and in the fog the dragon
     came on them and destroyed most of the warriors—the usual unhappy story, it was only too common in those days. Then he went
     back and crept in through the Front Gate and routed out all the halls, and lanes, and tunnels, alleys, cellars, mansions and
     passages. After that there were no dwarves left alive inside, and he took all their wealth for himself. Probably, for that
     is the dragons’ way, he has piled it all up in a great heap far inside, and sleeps on it for a bed. Later he used to crawl
     out of the great gate and come by night to Dale, and carry away people, especially maidens, to eat, until Dale was ruined,
     and all the people dead or gone. What goes on there now I don’t know forcertain, but I don’t suppose any one lives nearer to the Mountain than the far edge of the Long Lake now-a-days.
    “The few of us that were well outside sat and wept in hiding, and cursed Smaug; and there we were unexpectedly joined by my
     father and my grandfather with singed beards. They looked very grim but they said very little. When I asked how they had got
     away, they told me to hold my tongue, and said that one day in the proper time I should know. After that we went away, and
     we have had to earn our livings as best we could up and down the lands, often enough sinking as low as blacksmith-work or
     even coalmining. But we have never forgotten our stolen treasure. And even now, when I will allow we have a good bit laid
     by and are not so badly off”—here Thorin stroked the gold chain round his neck—“we still mean to get it back, and to bring
     our curses home to Smaug—if we can.
    “I have often wondered about my father’s and my grandfather’s escape. I see now they must have had a private Side-door which
     only they knew about. But apparently they made a map, and I should like to know how Gandalf got hold of it, and why it did
     not come down to me, the rightful heir.”
    “I did not ‘get hold of it,’ I was given it,” said the wizard. “Your grandfather Thror was killed, you remember, in the mines
     of Moria by Azog the Goblin .”
    “Curse his name, yes,” said Thorin.
    “And Thrain your father went away on the twenty-first of April, a hundred years ago last Thursday, and has never been seen
     by you since–”
    “True, true,” said Thorin.
    “Well, your father gave me this to give to you; and if I have chosen my own time and way for handing it over, you can hardly
     blame me, considering the trouble I had to find you. Your father could not remember his own name when he gave me the paper,
     and he never told me yours; so on the whole I think I ought to be praised and thanked! Here it is,” said he handing the map
     to Thorin.
    “I don’t understand,” said Thorin, and Bilbo felt he would have liked to say the same. The explanation did not seem to explain.
    “Your grandfather,” said the wizard slowly and grimly, “gave the map to his son for safety before he went to the mines of
     Moria. Your father went away to try his luck with the map after your grandfather was killed; and lots of adventures of a most
     unpleasant sort he had, but he never got near the Mountain. How he got there I don’t know, but I found him a