"Nay, Martin," says she softly. "I would have you forget my sex--sometimes!"
"'Twere a thing impossible!" says I, whereat she, stealing a glance at me, flushed all the hotter.
"Why then," says she, "You must not coddle and cosset me because I am a woman--"
"Never," quoth I, "'tis not my nature to do so."
"And yet you do, Martin."
"As how?"
"O in many ways--these blisters now, why should your hands grow rough and hard and not mine? Nature hath formed me woman but Fate hath made me your comrade, Martin. And how may I be truly your comrade except I share your toil?"
Now when I would have answered I could not, and turning from her to stare away across the limitless ocean saw it a-gleam through a mist as it were.
"Surely," says I at last, "O surely never had man so sweet and true a comrade! And I so rude and unlovely--and in all ways so unworthy."
"But you are not, Martin, you are not!"
"Aye, but I am--beyond your guessing, you that are so pure, so saintly--"
"Saintly? O Martin!" and here she laughs albeit a little tremulously. "Surely I am a very human saint, for I do grow mighty hungry and yearn for my supper. So prithee let us go and eat."
But on our way we turned aside to see if we had any fortune with my snares; sure enough, coming nigh the place we heard a shuffling and snorting, and presently discovered a goat fast by the neck and half-choked, and beside her a little kid pitifully a-bleating.
"O Martin!" cries my lady, and falling on her knees began caressing and fondling the little creature whiles I secured the dam, and mighty joyful. The goat, for all its strangling, strove mightily, but lashing its fore and hind legs I contrived to get it upon my shoulders and thus burdened set off homewards, my lady carrying the kid clasped to her bosom, and it very content there and small wonder.
"'Tis sweet, pretty thing," says my lady, stroking its silky hair, "and shall soon grow tame."
"And here is the beginning of our flock: our cheese and butter shall not be long a-lacking now, comrade."
"You must fashion me a press, Martin."
"And a churn," says I.
"Nay I can manage well enough with one of our pipkins."
"But a churn would be easier for you, so a churn you shall have, of sorts."
This evening after supper, sitting by our fire, my lady (and despite her weariness) was merrier than her wont and very full of plans for the future, deciding for me what furniture I must construct next, as chairs (two) a cupboard with shelves, and where these should stand when made: "And, Martin," says she, "now that we own goats I must have a dairy for my cheese-making, and my dairy shall be our larder, aye, and stillroom too, for I have been tending our garden lately and found growing many good herbs and simples. In time, Martin, these caves shall grow into a home indeed and all wrought by our own hands, and this is a sweet thought."