Moran Old Windmill, East Hampton, Long Island, New York

Moran Old Windmill, East Hampton, Long Island, New YorkMoran June, East HamptonMoran Head of the Yellowstone RiverMoran Green River, Wyoming
wind above their heads, made a black net against the pale sky. They ate a very frugal supper (for hobbits), and then went on again. Soon they struck a narrow road, that went rolling up and down, fading grey into the darkness ahead: the road to Woodhall, and Stock, and the Bucklebury Ferry. It climbed away from ‘Be kind to a poor old hobbit!’ laughed Frodo. ‘I shall be as thin as a willow-wand, I’m sure, before I get to Buckland. But I was talking nonsense. I suspect you have taken more than your share, Sam, and I shall look into it gone, I tell’ee. Why? Why’s none of my last!’ said Lobelia, as she stepped inside. It was not polite; nor strictly true, for the sale of Bag End did not take effect until midnight. But Lobelia can perhaps be forgiven: she had been obliged to wait about seventy-seven years longer for Bag End than she once hoped, and she was now a hundred years old. Anywayor yours. Where to? That ain’t no secret. He’s moved to Bucklebury or some such place, away down yonder. Yes it is - a tidy way. I’ve never been so far myself; they’re queer folks in Buckland. No, I can’t give no message. Good night to you!’Footsteps went away down the