"You are like to make me vain of my so many virtues, Martin!" laughs she; yet her laugh was very soft and her eyes kind when she looked at me.
"This hairpin shall be my birthday gift to you," says I.
"And surely none like to it in the whole world, Martin!"
After this we worked a great while, speaking no word; but presently she shows me my fish-line very neatly plaited and a good five feet long, the which did please me mightily, and so I told her.
"Heigho!" says she, leaning back against the rock, "Our days grow ever more busy!"
"And will do!" quoth I. "Here is strange, rude life for you, days of hardship and labour unceasing. Your hands shall grow all hard and rough and yourself sick with longing to be hence—"
"Alas, poor me!" she sighed.
"Why, 'twill be no wonder if you grieve for England and ease," says I, "'twill be but natural."
"O very, Martin!"
"For here are you," I went on, beginning to scowl up at the waning moon, "here are you bred up to soft and silken comfort, very dainty and delicate, and belike with lovers a-plenty, courtly gallants full up of fine phrases and eager for your service—."