"Yes, Martin."
"Even fellow as rough as I is better than loneliness?"
"Yes, Martin."
"Though your arms be bruised by my handling! For this I—I would crave your pardon—"
"'Tis all forgot!" says she, making shift to cover up her arm. "But your hand is bleeding—"
"A scratch!"
"Have you no other hurts?"
"A bruise or so."
"And did you come a-seeking me, Martin?"
"Yes."