We came in peace with nothing but our imaginations. . .

The hobbits haven't been seen in the neighborhood for quite some time.

They appear to be better at gardening than painting.

Her mother and Jennifer had coaxed her and filled her in on some sketchy details, but mostly young Christina believed on her own that the hobbits were at home this day and might even come to the door for a visit. The possibility of seeing one was exciting for a young girl just to think about.
The lively nine-year-old was cautious, but firm. We would all make the pilgrimage to the hobbit hole beside our pond and knock on the round green door, just as soon as it stopped raining.

Christina wasn't scared, of course, but she didn't quite have the courage to step up and knock on the door herself. So Stan, who is more comfortable with these little people, knocked for her: "Anybody home?" he demanded.
There was no response from within, and so Stan looked to Christina for a reaction. She was quick and earnest: "Tell them," she said, "that we come in peace."