"And are you so very angry, Martin?" I bent to sharpen my knife. "I would that you might laugh yourself—once in a while, Martin." I tested my knife on my thumb. "You are always so grave, Martin, so very solemn and young!" Finding my knife still blunt, I went on sharpening it. Here and all suddenly she was beside me on her knees and clasps my knife-hand in hers. "Indeed I had no thought to anger you. Are you truly angered or is it only that you are so very—hungry?" Now here I glanced at her and beholding all the roguish mischief in her eyes, try how I might, I could not but smile too.
"A little of both, comrade!" says I. "Though verily I am a surly animal by nature."
"Indeed yes, Martin," she sighs, "yet a very comfortable animal, and though strong and fierce and woefully trying at times, a very gentle animal to such as know you."
"And do you know me so well?"
"Better than you think, O a great deal better! Because I am a woman. And now are we friends again?"
"Yes!" says I heartily, "Yes!" And away she goes to her cooking and I mighty glad I had not destroyed her hairpin, the which (my knife being sharp) I began to ornament with all sorts of elaborations. Presently back she comes, spoon in one hand, stool in the other, and sits to watch me at work.
"What do you make now, Martin?"
"A pin for your hair."
"Why, 'tis beautiful!"
"'Tis scarce begun yet!"