"You must fashion me a press, Martin."
"And a churn," says I.
"Nay I can manage well enough with one of our pipkins."
"But a churn would be easier for you, so a churn you shall have, of sorts."
This evening after supper, sitting by our fire, my lady (and despite her weariness) was merrier than her wont and very full of plans for the future, deciding for me what furniture I must construct next, as chairs (two) a cupboard with shelves, and where these should stand when made:
"And, Martin," says she, "now that we own goats I must have a dairy for my cheese-making, and my dairy shall be our larder, aye, and stillroom too, for I have been tending our garden lately and found growing many good herbs and simples. In time, Martin, these caves shall grow into a home indeed and all wrought by our own hands, and this is a sweet thought."
"Why so it is," says I, "in very truth—but—"
"But what, sir?" she questioned, lifting admonishing finger.
"There may come a day when we may weary of it, how then?"
"Nay we are too busy—"