Early next morning, having bathed me in the pool and breakfasted with my companion on what remained of our goat's-flesh, I set to work to build me a fireplace in a fissure of the rock over against the little valley and close beside a great stone, smooth and flat-topped, that should make me an anvil, what time my companion collected a pile of kindling-wood. Soon we had the fire going merrily, and whilst my iron was heating, I chose a likely piece of wood, and splitting it with the hatchet, fell to carving it with my knife.
"What do you make now, Martin?"
"Here shall be a spoon for you, 'twill help you in your cooking."
"Indeed it will, Martin! But you are very skilful!"
"Nay, 'tis simple matter!" says I, whittling away but very conscious of her watchful eyes: "I have outworn many a weary hour carving things with my knife. Given time and patience a man may make anything."
"Some men!" says she, whereat I grew foolishly pleased with myself. The wood being soft and dry and my knife sharp the spoon grew apace and her interest in it; and because it was for her (and she so full of pleased wonder) I elaborated upon it here and there until, having shaped it to my fancy, I drew my iron from the fire and with the glowing end, burned out the bowl, scraping away the charred wood until I had hollowed it sufficiently, and the spoon was finished. And because she took such pleasure in it, now and hereafter, I append here a rough drawing of it.
(Drawing of a spoon.) "'Tis wonderful!" cries she, turning it this way and that. "'Tis admirable!"
"It might be better!" says I, wishing I had given more labour to it.
"I want no better, Martin!" And now she would have me make another for myself.
"Nay, mine can wait. But there is your comb to make."
"How shall you do that, Martin?"
"Of wood, like the Indians, but 'twill take time!"
"Why then, it shall wait with your spoon, first should come necessities."
"As what?"
"Dear Heaven, they be so many!" says she with rueful laugh. "For one thing, a cooking-pot, Martin."
"There is our turtle-shell!" says I.
"Why, 'tis very well, Martin, for a turtle-shell, but clumsy--a little. I would have a pan--with handles if you could contrive. And then plates would be a good thing."
"Handles?" says I, rubbing my chin. "Handles--aye, by all means, a pan with handles, but for this we must have clay."
"And then, Martin, platters would be useful things!"
"So they will!" I nodded. "These I can fashion of wood."