"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."
"And then chairs, and a table, Martin."
"True!" says I, growing gloomy. "Table and chairs would be easy had I but a saw! I could make you shelves and a cupboard had I but fortuned to find a saw instead of this hatchet."
"Nay, Martin," says she, smiling at my doleful visage. "Why this despond? If you can make me so wondrous a spoon with nought but your knife and a piece of driftwood, I know you will make me chairs and table of sorts, saw or no, aye, if our table be but a board laid across stones, and our chairs the same."
"What more do we need?" says I, sighing and scowling at my hatchet that it was not a saw.
"Well, Martin, if there be many goats in the island, and if you could take two or three alive, I have been thinking we might use their milk in many ways if we had pans to put the milk in, as butter and cheese if you could make me a press. Here be a-plenty of ifs, Martin, and I should not waste breath with so many if you were not the man you are!"
"As how?" I questioned, beginning to grind the hatchet on a stone.
"A man strong to overcome difficulty! And with such clever hands!"