The Hobbit

places where the sunlight came again.
    But they did not know this, and they were burdened with the heavy body of Bombur, which they had to carry along with them
     as best they could, taking the wearisome task in turns of four each while the others shared their packs. If these had not become all too light
     in the last few days, they would never have managed it; but a slumbering and smiling Bombur was a poor exchange for packs
     filled with food however heavy. In a few days a time came when there was practically nothing left to eat or to drink. Nothing
     wholesome could they see growing in the wood, only funguses and herbs with pale leaves and unpleasant smell.
    About four days from the enchanted stream they came to a part where most of the trees were beeches. They were at first inclined
     to be cheered by the change, for here there was no undergrowth and the shadow was not so deep. There was a greenish light
     about them, and in places they could see some distance to either side of the path. Yet the light only showed them endless
     lines of straight grey trunks like the pillars of some huge twilight hall. There was a breath of air and a noise of wind,
     but it had a sad sound. A few leaves came rustling down to remind them that outside autumn was coming on. Their feet ruffled
     among the dead leaves of countless other autumns that drifted over the banks of the path from the deep red carpets of the
     forest.
    Still Bombur slept and they grew very weary. At times they heard disquieting laughter. Sometimes there was singing in the
     distance too. The laughter was the laughter of fair voices not of goblins, and the singing was beautiful, but it sounded eerie
     and strange, and they were not comforted, rather they hurried on from those parts with what strength they had left.
    Two days later they found their path going downwards, and before long they were in a valley filled almost entirely with a
     mighty growth of oaks.
    “Is there no end to this accursed forest?” said Thorin. “Somebody must climb a tree and see if he can get his head above the
     roof and have a look round. The only way is to choose the tallest tree that overhangs the path.”
    Of course “somebody” meant Bilbo. They chose him, because to be of any use the climber must get his head above the topmost
     leaves, and so he must be light enough for the highest and slenderest branches to bear him. Poor Mr. Baggins had never had
     much practice in climbing trees, but they hoisted him up into the lowest branches of an enormous oak that grew right out into
     the path, and up he had to go as best he could. He pushed his way through the tangled twigs with many a slap in the eye; he
     was greened and grimed from the old bark of the greater boughs; more than once he slipped and caught himself just in time;
     and at last, after a dreadful struggle in a difficult place where there seemed to be no convenient branches at all, he got
     near the top. All the time he was wondering whether there were spiders in the tree, and how he was going to get down again
     (except by falling).
    In the end he poked his head above the roof of leaves, and then he found spiders all right. But they were only small ones
     of ordinary size, and they were after the butterflies. Bilbo’s eyes were nearly blinded by the light. He could hear the dwarves
     shouting up at him from far below, but he could not answer, only hold on and blink. The sun was shining brilliantly, and it was a long while before he could bear it. When he could, he saw all round him a sea of dark green, ruffled here and
     there by the breeze; and there were everywhere hundreds of butterflies. I expect they were a kind of “purple emperor”, a butterfly
     that loves the tops of oak-woods, but these were not purple at all, they were a dark dark velvety black without any markings
     to be seen.
    He looked at the “black emperors” for a long time, and enjoyed the feel of the breeze in his hair and on his face; but at
     length the cries of the dwarves, who were now simply stamping with impatience down below, reminded him of his real business.
     It was no good. Gaze as much as he might, he could see no end to the trees and the leaves in any direction. His heart, that
     had been lightened by the sight of the sun and the feel of the wind, sank back into his toes: there was no food to go back
     to down below.
    Actually, as I have told you, they were not far off the edge of the forest; and if Bilbo had had the sense to see