hearing her gasp, I glanced up to find her
nigh stifled with her laughter.

"Ha, why must ye laugh, madam?" I demanded.

"O Martin!" says she, "And must this poor man be whipped--and for a
mere look? And you so fierce withal! I fear there be many men do
merit whipping if this be sin so great."

"I see no reason in your laughter, my lady!" quoth I, scowling up at
her.

"Because you have no gift of laughter, my lord!" says she, and turns
her back on me.

Here I came nigh to tossing her half-finished hairpin into the fire;
but seeing her turn her head, carved on for very shame.

"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!"

Here she must needs lavish all manner of praises on my skill until I
came nigh cutting myself.

"How many will you make me, Martin?"

"As many as you will."

"Three should suffice."

"Why, you have a prodigious lot of hair."

"Do you think so, Martin?" says she, glancing down at the two great
braids that fell over her bosom well-nigh to her waist. "'Twas well
enough in England, but here 'tis greatly in my way and hampers me in my
work. I had thought