The Shire is speckled with groves of trees nestled among the farms and ponds, but none of the Traddits had seen anything like the vast, dense forest that forms its eastern border. The main course of the road turned northward at the brink of the wilderness, and a narrow path, wide enough perhaps for a small donkey and cart, dropped into Okeema. Just here, a small wooden structure had been built. Acuff explained that it was a roadside shrine to the Patron Saint of the Stompers, St Hank, and he insisted on making an offering of Redman chewing tobacco and engaging in the standard prayer to the Saint, which sounded to the Traddits like a strange blend of yodeling and weeping. The travelers shared a small loaf of bread and a wedge of flummox cheese, and started into the great wood.

The close growth of the great trees filtered and blocked the sunlight until the group were holding their hands in front of them to keep from colliding with the immense trunks that lined the path, if path they still trod. They proceeded in this way until the gloom was at last broken by a brightly lit clearing. On reaching this, they realized that they must have lost the trail some ways back, but as the others rested, Slam found a bit of cloth caught on a thorn bush, and what appeared to be a footpath. "Perhaps we should make camp here," said Capo as he looked down the course of the thin trail. It was then that Slam pause and said "I hear music!" And as they listened, the bright notes of a banjo seemed to float among the dark trees like so many fireflies.

At a brisk pace, they followed the sound of the banjo, until before them they saw another clearing, in the center of which stood a massive oak tree trunk which sprouted a thin halo of green-leafed branches. In this trunk was mounted a great arched door of rugged slats bound with rusted iron hardware. And over the door was hung a signboard, and as they read the words, Doodle spoke them aloud...

"Pete Seegadil
His Home "