The Hobbit

Gandalf, “you are not at all yourself this morning—you have never dusted the mantelpiece!”
    “What’s that got to do with it? I have had enough to do with washing up for fourteen!”
    “If you had dusted the mantelpiece, you would have found this just under the clock,” said Gandalf, handing Bilbo a note (written,
     of course, on his own note-paper).
    This is what he read:
    “Thorin and Company to Burglar Bilbo greeting! For your hospitality our sincerest thanks, and for your offer of professional
     assistance our grateful acceptance. Terms: cash on delivery, up to and not exceeding one fourteenth of total profits (if any);
     all travelling expenses guaranteed in any event; funeral expenses to be defrayed by us or our representatives, if occasion
     arises and the matter is not otherwise arranged for.
    “Thinking it unnecessary to disturb your esteemed repose, we have proceeded in advance to make requisite preparations, and
     shall await your respected person at the Green Dragon Inn, Bywater, at 11 a.m. sharp. Trusting that you will be
punctual
,
    “
We have the honour to remain
        “  
Yours deeply
              “
Thorin & Co.
”
    “That leaves you just ten minutes. You will have to run,” said Gandalf.
    “But—,” said Bilbo.
    “No time for it,” said the wizard.
    “But—,” said Bilbo again.
    “No time for that either! Off you go!”
    To the end of his days Bilbo could never remember how he found himself outside, without a hat, a walking-stick or any money,
     or anything that he usually took when he went out; leaving his second breakfast half-finished and quite unwashed-up, pushing
     his keys into Gandalf’s hands, and running as fast as his furry feet could carry him down the lane, past the great Mill, across
     The Water, and then on for a mile or more.
    Very puffed he was, when he got to Bywater just on the stroke of eleven, and found he had come without a pocket-handkerchief!
    “Bravo!” said Balin who was standing at the inn door looking out for him.
    Just then all the others came round the corner of the road from the village. They were on ponies, and each pony was slung
     about with all kinds of baggages, packages, parcels, and paraphernalia. There was a very small pony, apparently for Bilbo.
    “Up you two get, and off we go!” said Thorin.
    “I’m awfully sorry,” said Bilbo, “but I have come without my hat, and I have left my pocket-handkerchief behind, and I haven’t
     got any money. I didn’t get your note until after 10.45 to be precise.”
    “Don’t be precise,” said Dwalin, “and don’t worry! You will have to manage without pocket-handkerchiefs, and a good many other
     things, before you get to the journey’s end. As for a hat, I have got a spare hood and cloak in my luggage.”
    That’s how they all came to start, jogging off from the inn one fine morning just before May, on laden ponies; and Bilbo was
     wearing a dark-green hood (a little weather-stained) and a dark-green cloak borrowed from Dwalin. They were too large for
     him, and he looked rather comic. What his father Bungo would have thought of him, I daren’t think. His only comfort was he
     couldn’t be mistaken for a dwarf, as he had no beard.
    They had not been riding very long, when up came Gandalf very splendid on a white horse. He had brought a lot of pocket-handkerchiefs,
     and Bilbo’s pipe and tobacco. So after that the party went along very merrily, and they told stories or sang songs as they
     rode forward all day, except of course when they stopped for meals. These didn’t come quite as often as Bilbo would have liked
     them, but still he began to feel that adventures were not so bad after all.
    At first they had passed through hobbit-lands, a wide respectable country inhabited by decent folk, with good roads, an inn
     or two, and now and then a dwarf or a farmer ambling by on business. Then they came to lands where people spoke strangely,
     and sang songs Bilbo had never heard before. Now they had gone on far into the Lone-lands, where there were no people left,
     no inns, and the roads grew steadily worse. Not far ahead were dreary hills, rising higher and higher, dark with trees. On
     some of them were old castles with an evil look, as if they had been built by wicked people. Everything seemed gloomy, for the weather that day had taken a nasty turn. Mostly it had been as good as May can be, can be, even in merry tales, but
     now it was cold and wet. In the Lone-lands