"Is that so wonderful, Martin?"

"Why, a man's thoughts are but thoughts," says I, watching where she
braided a long tress of her hair.

"Some men's thoughts are so easily read!" says she.

"Are mine?"

"Sometimes, Martin!" Now at this I blenched and well I might, and she
smiled down at the long tress of hair she was braiding and then glances
at me mighty demure; quoth she: "But only sometimes, Martin. Now, for
instance, you are wondering why of late I have taken to wearing my hair
twisted round my head and pinned with these two small pieces of wood in
fashion so unsightly!"

"Aye, truly," says I wondering, "indeed and so I was! Though I do not
think it unsightly!"

"I wear it so, Martin, first because my hairpins are yet to make, and
second because I would not have you find my hairs in your baked goat,
boiled goat, roast, fried or stewed goat. And speaking of goat brings
us back where we began, and we began yearning for a change of food."

"As to that," says I, taking her half-finished hairpin from my pocket
and drawing my knife, "the lagoon is full of fish had I but a hook--"

"Or a net, Martin."

"How should we contrive our net?"

"In the woods all about us do grow vines very strong and pliable--would
these serve, think you?"

"Ha--an excellent thought!" says I. "To-morrow we will attempt it. As
to fish-hooks, I might contrive them out of my nails hammered small,
though I fear they'd be but clumsy. Had I but a good stout pin--"

"I have two, Martin, here in my shoe-buckles."

"Show me!" Stooping, she slipped off one of her shoes and gave it to
me; and turning it over in my hand I saw the poor little thing all cut
and torn and in woeful estate.

"I must contrive you other shoes and soon!" says I.

"Can you make shoes, Martin?"

"I'll tell you this to-morrow."

"O Martin, 'twould be wonderful if you could, and a great comfort to
me."

"Why then, you shall have them, though unlovely things they'll be, I
fear."

"No matter so long as they keep out sharp stones and briars, Martin."

"Your foot is wonderfully small!" says I, studying her shoe.

"Is it, Martin? Why 'tis a very ordinary foot, I think. And the pins
are behind the buckles." Sure enough I found these silver buckles
furnished each with a good stout pin well-suited to my design; so
breaking them from the buckles, I had soon bent them into hooks and
(with the back of my knife and a stone) I shaped each with a small ring