"Because I had rather die solitary than live in your fellowship—"
"Dolt! Clod! Worm!" cried she 'twixt gnashing teeth, and then all in a moment she was gazing down at me soft and gentle-eyed, red lips up-curving and smooth cheek dimpling to a smile:
"Ah, Martin," sighs she languorously, "see how you do vex me! And I am foolish to suffer such as you to anger me, but needs must I vex you a little in quittance, yes."
At this I did but shrug my shoulders and turned to study again the problem—how to set about launching my boat.
"Art a something skilful carpenter, eh, Martino," said she in a while; "'twas you made the table and chairs and beds in the caves up yonder, eh, Martino?"
"Aye."
"And these the tools you made 'em with, eh, Martino?" and she pointed where they lay beside the boat.
"Nay," quoth I, speaking on impulse, being yet busied with my problem, "I had nought but my hatchet then and chisels of iron."
"Your hatchet—this?" she questioned, taking it up.
"Aye!" I nodded. "The hatchet was the first tool I found after we were cast destitute on this island."