All that the unsuspecting Bilbo saw that morning was
an old man with a staff. He had a tall pointed blue hat, a
long grey cloak, a silver scarf over which his long white
beard hung down below his waist, and immense black
boots.
“Good Morning!” said Bilbo, and he meant it. The sun
was shining, and the grass was very green. But Gandalf
looked at him from under long bushy eyebrows that stuck
out further than the brim of his shady hat.
“What do you mean?” he said. “Do you wish me a
good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether
I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that
it is a morning to be good on?”
“All of them at once,” said Bilbo. “And a very fine
morning for a pipe of tobacco out of doors, into the
bargain. If you have a pipe about you, sit down and have
a fill of mine! There’s no hurry, we have all the day
before us!” Then Bilbo sat down on a seat by his door,
crossed his legs, and blew out a beautiful grey ring of
smoke that sailed up into the air without breaking and
floated away over The Hill.
