The Hobbit

Balin with the white beard. “But I don’t
     mind some cake—seed-cake, if you have any.”
    “Lots!” Bilbo found himself answering, to his own surprise; and he found himself scuttling off, too, to the cellar to fill
     a pint beer-mug, and then to a pantry to fetch two beautiful round seed-cakes which he had baked that afternoon for his after-supper
     morsel.
    When he got back Balin and Dwalin were talking at the table like old friends (as a matter of fact they were brothers). Bilbo
     plumped down the beer and the cake in front of them, when loud came a ring at the bell again, and then another ring.
    “Gandalf for certain this time,” he thought as he puffed along the passage. But it was not. It was two more dwarves, both
     with blue hoods, silver belts, and yellow beards; and each of them carried a bag of tools and a spade. In they hopped, as
     soon as the door began to open—Bilbo was hardly surprised at all.
    “What can I do for you, my dwarves?” he said.
    “Kili at your service!” said the one. “And Fili!” added the other; and they both swept off their blue hoods and bowed.
    “At yours and your family’s!” replied Bilbo, remembering his manners this time.
    “Dwalin and Balin here already, I see,” said Kili. “Let us join the throng!”
    “Throng!” thought Mr. Baggins. “I don’t like the sound of that. I really must sit down for a minute and collect my wits, and
     have a drink.” He had only just had a sip—in the corner, while the four dwarves sat round the table, and talked about mines
     and gold and troubles with the goblins, and the depredations of dragons, and lots of other things which he did not understand,
     and did not want to, for they sounded much too adventurous—when,
ding-dong-a-ling-dang
, his bell rang again, as if some naughty little hobbit-boy was trying to pull the handle off.
    “Someone at the door!” he said, blinking.
    “Some four, I should say by the sound,” said Fili. “Besides, we saw them coming along behind us in the distance.”
    The poor little hobbit sat down in the hall and put his head in his hands, and wondered what had happened, and what was going
     to happen, and whether they would all stay to supper. Then the bell rang again louder than ever, and he had to run to the
     door. It was not four after all, it was five. Another dwarf had come along while he was wondering in the hall. He had hardly
     turned the knob, before they were all inside, bowing and saying “at your service” one after another. Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, and Gloin were their names; and very soon two purple hoods, a grey hood, a brown
     hood, and a white hood were hanging on the pegs, and off they marched with their broad hands stuck in their gold and silver
     belts to join the others. Already it had almost become a throng. Some called for ale, and some for porter, and one for coffee,
     and all of them for cakes; so the hobbit was kept very busy for a while.
    A big jug of coffee had just been set in the hearth, the seed-cakes were gone, and the dwarves were starting on a round of
     buttered scones, when there came—a loud knock. Not a ring, but a hard rat-tat on the hobbit’s beautiful green door. Somebody
     was banging with a stick!
    Bilbo rushed along the passage, very angry, and altogether bewildered and bewuthered—this was the most awkward Wednesday he
     ever remembered. He pulled open the door with a jerk, and they all fell in, one on top of the other. More dwarves, four more!
     And there was Gandalf behind, leaning on his staff and laughing. He had made quite a dent on the beautiful door; he had also,
     by the way, knocked out the secret mark that he had put there the morning before.
    “Carefully! Carefully!” he said. “It is not like you, Bilbo, to keep friends waiting on the mat, and then open the door like
     a pop-gun! Let me introduce Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, and especially Thorin!”
    “At your service!” said Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur standing in a row. Then they hung up two yellow hoods and a pale green one;
     and also a sky-blue one with a long silver tassel. This last belonged to Thorin, an enormously important dwarf, in fact no other than the great Thorin Oakenshield himself, who was not at all pleased at falling
     flat on Bilbo’s mat with Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur on top of him. For one thing Bombur was immensely fat and heavy. Thorin
     indeed was very haughty, and said nothing about
service
; but poor Mr. Baggins said he was sorry so many times, that