"We shall not reach there this night. 'Twill be dark in another hour and there is no moon, so needs must we bide here."
"As you will, Martin."
Hard beside the river that wound a devious course through the green was a little grove, and sitting here I fell to plucking the bird.
"Shall I not do that, Martin?"
"I can do it well enough."
"As you wish, Martin."
"You are weary, doubtless."
"Why, 'tis no great labour to cook supper, Martin."
"Howbeit, I'll try my hand to-night."
"Very well," says she and away she goes to collect sticks for the fire whiles I sat feathering the bird and found the flesh of it very white and delicate. But all the while my anger swelled within me for the folly I had uttered to her, in a moment of impulse, concerning love. Thus as she knelt to build the fire I spoke my thought.