Sometimes Alfwread stops short in the middle of his second breakfast just to ‘go to thinking’ again; and this, as well as other odd habits such as his ‘adventurous’ proclivity of setting out upon solitary tramps around the countryside, made a few of the more imaginative Misthallow hobbits whisper that he must lie under some sort of Big Folk magician’s spell, while other Holbytlan, just as ignorant and unlettered, possessing a limited vocabulary, simply call him ‘weird.’ But Alfwread does not mind; he is as equally uninterested in the company of his peers as in their hobbitty gossip they so delight in sharing. 

If he is not tromping about in big thick boots, erecting dubiously helpful signs such as, ‘BEYOND THIS SIGN LIES A WOLF’S DEN BE WARE,’ or ‘WOBBLY ROCKS AHEAD’*, one can usually find him sitting at the base of an old gnarled tree thinking deep thoughts such as:

Is it possible for the Clouds and Air to be thickened, so that one could walk upon it? 

What is in Fire that makes it hot? It seems to burn from nothing, yet consumes all.

Where does the Long River flow outside the Valley? 

And so on.

*: One might wonder about the value of signage in an illiterate community of hobbits. If this was ever called to his attention, Alfwread would simply suck in his bottom lip and look pensive and rabbity.