Bard hugged back his only two beautiful daughters, Tilda and Sigrid, while Saeril pulled down her hood, but keeping her cloak on, (what's to say? She can't take it off). The house was warm and cozy, albeit small. It was totally different to the Shire, and there isn't a speck of any riches in sight; it's almost as if there was hardly any money in this harbor at all. 

Their father peered out the window to make sure that the spies weren't watching anymore, eventually nodding to his son. "Bain, get them in", he murmured. The boy headed down to the toilet and rapped three times on the wall to give the dwarves the signal. Dwalin's head rose up, eyes narrowed at the young boy. "If you speak of this to anyone, I'll rip your arms off!" the dwarf hissed at him, slapping his hand away when he tried to help. "Up there!", the boy pointed to where they should go, pulling a shivering Bilbo up after Dwalin.