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he grey and yellow leaves； moving softly against the light； and singing。 They shut their eyes； and then it seemed that they could almost hear words； cool words； saying something about water and sleep。 They gave themselves up to the spell and fell fast asleep at the foot of the great grey willow。
Frodo lay for a while fighting with the sleep that was overpowering him； then with an effort he struggled to his feel again。 He felt a pelling desire for cool water。 'Wait for me； Sam；' he stammered。 'Must bathe feet a minute。'
Half in a dream he wandered forward to the riverward side of the tree； where great winding roots grew out into the stream； like gnarled dragonets straining down to drink。 He straddled one of these； and paddled his hot feel in the cool brown water； and there he too suddenly fell asleep with his back against the tree。
Sam sat down and scratched his head； and yawned like a cavern。 He was worried。 The afternoon was getting late； and he thought this sudden sleepiness uncanny。 'There's more behind this than sun and warm air；' he muttered to himself。 'I don't like this great big tree。 I don't trust it。 Hark at it singing about sleep now！ This won't do at all！'
He pulled himself to his feet； and staggered off to see what had bee of the ponies。 He found that two had wandered on a good way along the path； and he had just caught them and brought them back towards the others； when he heard two noises； one loud； and the other soft but very clear。 One was the splash of something heavy falling into the water； the other was a noise like the snick of a lock when a door quietly closes fast。
He rushed back to the bank。 Frodo was in the water close to the edge； and a great tree…root seemed to be over him and holding him down； but he was not struggling。 Sam gripped him by the jacket； and dragged him from under the root； and then with difficulty hauled him on to the bank。 Almost at once he woke； and coughed and spluttered。
'Do you know； Sam；' he said at length； 'the beastly tree threw me in！ I felt it。 The big root just twisted round and tipped me in！'
'You were dreaming I expect； Mr。 Frodo；' said Sam。 'You shouldn't sit in such a place； if you feel sleepy。'
'What about the others？' Frodo asked。 'I wonder what sort of dreams they are having。'
They went round to the other side of the tree； and then Sam understood the click that he had heard。 Pippin had vanished。 The crack by which he had laid himself had closed together； so that not a chink could be seen。 Merry was trapped： another crack had closed about his waist； his legs lay outside； but the rest of him was inside a dark opening； the edges of which gripped like a pair of pincers。
Frodo and Sam beat first upon the tree…trunk where Pippin had lain。 They then struggled frantically to pull open the jaws of the crack that held poor Merry。 It was quite useless。
'What a foul thing to happen！' cried Frodo wildly。 'Why did we ever e into this dreadful Forest？ I wish we were all back at Crickhollow！' He kicked the tree with all his strength； heedless of his own feet。 A hardly perceptible shiver ran through the stem and up into the branches； the leaves rustled and whispered； but with a sound now of faint and far…off laughter。
'I suppose we haven't got an axe among our luggage； Mr。 Frodo？' asked Sam。
'I brought a little hatchet for chopping firewood；' said Frodo。 'That wouldn't be much use。'
'Wait a minute！' cried Sam； struck by an idea suggested by firewood。 'We might do something with fire！'
'We might；' said Frodo doubtfully。 'We might succeed in roasting Pippin alive inside。'
'We might try to hurt or frighten this tree to begin with；' said Sam fiercely。 'If it don't let them go； I'll have it down； if I have to gnaw it。' He ran to the ponies and before long came back with two tinder…boxes and a hatchet。
Quickly they gathered dry grass and leaves； and bits of bark； and made a pile of broken twigs and chopped sticks。 These they heaped against the trunk on the far side of the tree from the prisoners。 As soon as Sam had struck a spark into the tinder； it kindled the dry grass and a flurry of flame and smoke went up。 The twigs crackled。 Little fingers of fire licked against the dry scored rind of the ancient tree and scorched it。 A tremor ran through the whole willow。 The leaves seemed to hiss above their heads with a sound of pain and anger。 A loud scream came from Merry； and from far inside the tree they heard Pippin give a muffled yell。
'Put it out！ Put it out！' cried Merry。 'He'll squeeze me in two； if you don't。 He says so！'
'Who？ What？' shouted Frodo； rushing round to the other side of the tree。
'Put it out！ Put it out！' begged Merry。 The branches of the willow began to sway violently。 There was a sound as of a wind rising and spreading outwards to the branches of all the other trees round about； as though they had dropped a stone into the quiet slumber of the river…valley and set up ripples of anger that ran out over the whole Forest。 Sam kicked at the little fire and stamped out the sparks。 But Frodo； without any clear idea of why he did so； or what he hoped for； ran along the path crying help！ help！ help！ It seemed to him that he could hardly hear the sound of his own shrill voice： it was blown away from him by the willow…wind and drowned in a clamour of leaves； as soon as the words left his mouth。 He felt desperate： lost and witless。
Suddenly he slopped。 There was an answer； or so he thought； but it seemed to e from behind him； away down the path further back in the Forest。 He turned round and listened； and soon there could be no doubt： someone was singing a song； a deep glad voice was singing carelessly and happily； but it was singing nonsense：
Hey dol！ merry dol！ ring a dong dillo！
Ring a dong！ hop along！ fal lal the willow！
Tom Bom； jolly Tom； Tom Bombadillo！
Half hopeful and half afraid of some new danger； Frodo and Sam now both stood still。 Suddenly out of a long string of nonsense…words （or so they seemed） the voice rose up loud and clear and burst into this song：
Hey！ e merry dot！ derry dol！ My darling！
Light goes the weather…wind and the feathered starling。
Down along under Hill； shining in the sunlight；
Waiting on the doorstep for the cold starlight；
There my pretty lady is。 River…woman's daughter；
Slender as the willow…wand； clearer than the water。
Old Tom Bombadil water…lilies bringing
es hopping home again。 Can you hear him singing？
Hey！ e merry dol！ deny dol！ and merry…o；
Goldberry； Goldberry； merry yellow berry…o！
Poor old Willow…man； you tuck your roots away！
Tom's in a hurry now。 Evening will follow day。
Tom's going home again water…lilies bringing。
Hey！ e derry dol！ Can you hear me singing？
Frodo and Sam stood as if enchanted。 The wind puffed out。 The leaves hung silently again on stiff branches。 There was another burst of song； and then suddenly； hopping and dancing along the path； there appeared above the reeds an old battered hat with a tall crown and a long blue feather stuck in the band。 With another hop and a bound there came into view a man； or so it seemed。 At any rate he was too large and heavy for a hobbit； if not quite tall enough for one of the Big People； though he made noise enough for one； slumping along with great yellow boots on his thick legs； and charging through grass and rushes like a cow going down to drink。 He had a blue coat and a long brown beard； his eyes were blue and bright； and his face was red as a ripe apple； but creased into a hundred wrinkles of laughter。 In his hands he carried on a large leaf as on a tray a small pile of white water…lilies。
'Help！' cried Frodo and Sam running towards him with their hands stretched out。
'Whoa！ Whoa！ steady there！' cried the old man； holding up one hand； and they stopped short； as if they had been struck stiff。 'Now； my little fellows； where be you a…going to； puffing like a bellows？ What's the matter here then？ Do you know who I am？ I'm Tom Bombadil。 Tell me what's your trouble！ Tom's in a hurry now。 Don't you crush my lilies！'
'My friends are caught in the willow…tree；' cried Frodo breathlessly。
'Master Merry's being squeezed in a crack！' cried Sam。
'What？' shouted Tom Bombadil； leaping up in the air。 'Old Man Willow？ Naught worse than that； eh？ That can soon be mended。 I know the tune for him。 Old grey Willow…man！ I'll freeze his marrow cold； if he don't behave himself。 I'll sing his roots off。 I'll sing a wind up and blow leaf and branch away。 Old Man Willow！' Setting down his lilies carefully on the grass； he ran to the tree。 There he saw Merry's feet still sticking out … the rest had already been drawn further inside。 Tom put his mouth to the crack and began singing into it in a low voice。 They could not catch the words； but evidently Merry was aroused。 His legs began to kick。 Tom sprang away； and breaking off a hanging branch smote the side of the willow with it。 'You let them out again； Old Man Willow！' he said。 'What be you a…thinking of？ You should not be waking。 Eat earth！ Dig deep！ Drink water！ Go to sleep！ Bombadil is talking！' He then seized Merry's feet and drew him out of the suddenly widening crack。
There was a tearing creak and the other crack split open； and ou