The Hobbit

of
     iron-bound wood.
    “Hail Thorin!” said Bard. “Are you still of the same mind?”
    “My mind does not change with the rising and setting of a few suns,” answered Thorin. “Did you come to ask me idle questions?
     Still the elf-host has not departed as I bade! Till then you come in vain to bargain with me.”
    “Is there then nothing for which you would yield any of your gold?”
    “Nothing that you or your friends have to offer.”
    “What of the Arkenstone of Thrain?” said he, and at the same moment the old man opened the casket and held aloft the jewel.
     The light leapt from his hand, bright and white in the morning.
    Then Thorin was stricken dumb with amazement and confusion. No one spoke for a long while.
    Thorin at length broke the silence, and his voice was thick with wrath. “That stone was my father’s, and is mine,” he said.
     “Why should I purchase my own?” But wonder overcame him and he added: “But how came you by the heirloom of my house—if there
     is need to ask such a question of thieves?”
    “We are not thieves,” Bard answered. “Your own we will give back in return for our own.”
    “How came you by it?” shouted Thorin in gathering rage.
    “I gave it to them!” squeaked Bilbo, who was peering over the wall, by now in a dreadful fright.
    “You! You!” cried Thorin, turning upon him and grasping him with both hands. “You miserable hobbit! You undersized—burglar!”
     he shouted at a loss for words, and he shook poor Bilbo like a rabbit.
    “By the beard of Durin! I wish I had Gandalf here! Curse him for his choice of you! May his beard wither! As for you I will
     throw you to the rocks!” he cried and lifted Bilbo in his arms.
    “Stay! Your wish is granted!” said a voice. The old man with the casket threw aside his hood and cloak. “Here is Gandalf!
     And none too soon it seems. If you don’t like my Burglar, please don’t damage him.
    Put him down, and listen first to what he has to say!”
    “You all seem in league!” said Thorin dropping Bilbo on the top of the wall. “Never again will I have dealings with any wizard
     or his friends. What have you to say, you descendant of rats?”
    “Dear me! Dear me!” said Bilbo. “I am sure this is all very uncomfortable. You may remember saying that I might choose my
     own fourteenth share? Perhaps I took it too literally—I have been told that dwarves are sometimes politer in word than in
     deed. The time was, all the same, when you seemed to think that I had been of some service. Descendant of rats, indeed! Is
     this all the service of you and your family that I was promised, Thorin? Take it that I have disposed of my share as I wished,
     and let it go at that!”
    “I will,” said Thorin grimly. “And I will let you go at that—and may we never meet again!” Then he turned and spoke over the
     wall. “I am betrayed,” he said. “It was rightly guessed that I could not forbear to redeem the Arkenstone, the treasure of
     my house. For it I will give one fourteenth share of the hoard in silver and gold, setting aside the gems; but that shall
     be accounted the promised share of this traitor, and with that reward he shall depart, and you can divide it as you will.
     He will get little enough, I doubt not. Take him, if you wish him to live; and no friendship of mine goes with him.
    “Get down now to your friends!” he said to Bilbo, “or I will throw you down.”
    “What about the gold and silver?” asked Bilbo. “That shall follow after, as can be arranged,” said he. “Get down!”
    “Until then we keep the stone,” cried Bard.
    “You are not making a very splendid figure as King under the Mountain,” said Gandalf. “But things may change yet.”
    “They may indeed,” said Thorin. And already, so strong was the bewilderment of the treasure upon him, he was pondering whether
     by the help of Dain he might not recapture the Arkenstone and withhold the share of the reward.
    And so Bilbo was swung down from the wall, and departed with nothing for all his trouble, except the armour which Thorin had
     given him already. More than one of the dwarves in their hearts felt shame and pity at his going.
    “Farewell!” he cried to them. “We may meet again as friends.”
    “Be off!” called Thorin. “You have mail upon you, which was made by my folk, and is too good for you. It cannot be pierced
     by arrows; but if you do not hasten, I will sting your miserable feet. So be