The sound of luggage-carts, with their wheels squeaking, as they roll over the bridge and pass by my garden... This can only mean one thing: a new neighbour on Harrow Road! Of course, the talk in the Oak and Bell serves only to confirm this.
For several days now these carts have been coming and going from the village. Nothing unusual there. Oddly, however, these wagons were driven by Dwarves - the stout, bearded folk from the mountains. The old yet roomy smial at Six Harrow Road was their destination, suggesting that my new neighbour is not short of gold.
With a basket of fresh apples from the orchard, I thought it courteous to greet my new neighbour. I was greeted by a Mr. Horgo Harfield (I must look up that name in the records) of the Marish, beside the Brandywine in the Eastfarting. A pleasant fellow, I was rather distracted by his shoes. The bogs of the Marish have known to breed some queer folk, no mistake, but shoes truly take the biscuit... I was pleasantly surprised, however to know that this fellow knew of me - or at least my name and books.
As it happens, this Mr. Horgo seems refreshingly enthusiastic about history - with a particular interest in Dwarves (perhaps that explains the luggage-carts). So much so that he has already put together the makings of a Dwarf-museum at Six Harrow Road, a home of many curiosities that he has purveyed from his bearded friends. It was truly a spectacle, and I was rather lost for words. He speaks of writing on the subject of these people - books and essays. I introduced him to my own library and works, which he seemed rather impressed with. I believe that I have struck up a friendship with this peculiar, booted Marisher.
