"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."