"With a bow and arrows."
"Have you found these also?"
"No, I must make them. I shall look out a sapling shaped to my purpose and trim it with my knife. For the cord of my bow I will have leather strips cut from my jerkin."
"Aye, but your arrows, Martin, how shall you barb them without iron?"
"True!" says I, somewhat hipped. But in that moment my eye lighted on a piece of driftwood I had gathered for fuel and, reaching it, I laid it at her feet. "There," says I, pointing to the heads of divers rusty bolts that pierced it, "here is iron enough to arm a score of arrows."
"But how shall you make them, Martin?"
"Heat the iron soft and hammer it into shape."
"But you have neither hammer nor anvil."
"Stones shall do."
"O wonderful!" she cried.