love.
Thus as she knelt to build the fire I spoke my thought.

"I said a vain and foolish thing to you a while since."

"Aye, Martin you did!" says she, bending over her pile of sticks. "But
which do you mean?"

"I mean that folly regarding love."

"O, was that folly, Martin?" she questioned, busy laying the sticks in
place.

"Arrant folly, for I could never love you--or any woman--"

"O, why not, Martin?"

"Because I have no gift for't--no leaning that way--nor ever shall--"

"Why indeed, you are no ordinary man, Martin. Shall I light the fire?"

"No, I will."

"Yes, Martin!" And down she sits with folded hands, watching me mighty
solemn and demure and I very conscious of her scrutiny. Having plucked
and drawn my bird, I fell to trimming it with my knife, yet all the
time feeling her gaze upon me, so that what with this and my anger I
pricked my thumb and cursed beneath my breath, whereupon she arose and
left me.

Having thus prepared my bird for cooking I set it upon two sticks and,
lighting the fire, sat down to watch it. But scarce had I done so when
back comes my lady.

"Martin," says she, "should you not truss your bird first, Martin?"

"'Twill do as it is."

"Very well, Martin. But why are you so short with me?"

"I am surly by nature!" quoth I.

"Aye, true!" she nodded, "But why are you angry with me this time?"

"I ha' forgot."

"You were merry enough this noon and laughed gaily, and once you fell
a-whistling--"

"The more fool I!"

"Why then, methinks I do like your folly--sometimes!" says she softly.
"But now see this river, Martin, 'tis called the Serpent Water in the
map, and indeed it winds and twists like any snake. But where should so
much water come from, think you? Let us go look!"

"Nay, not I--here's the bird to tend--"

"Why then," says she, stamping her foot at me in sudden anger, "stay
where you are until you find your temper! And may your bird burn to a
cinder!" And away she goes forthwith and I staring after her like any
fool until she was out of sight. So there sat I beside the fire and
giving all due heed to my cooking; but in a while I fell to deep
reflection and became so lost in my thoughts that, roused by a smell of
burning, I started up to find my bird woefully singed.

This put me in fine rage so that I was minded to cast the carcass into
the fire and have done with it; and my anger grew as the time passed
and my companion came not. The sun sank r