her a little kid pitifully a-bleating.

"O Martin!" cries my lady, and falling on her knees began caressing and
fondling the little creature whiles I secured the dam, and mighty
joyful. The goat, for all its strangling, strove mightily, but lashing
its fore and hind legs I contrived to get it upon my shoulders and thus
burdened set off homewards, my lady carrying the kid clasped to her
bosom, and it very content there and small wonder.

"'Tis sweet, pretty thing," says my lady, stroking its silky hair, "and
shall soon grow tame."

"And here is the beginning of our flock: our cheese and butter shall
not be long a-lacking now, comrade."

"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--"

"Can it--could it be"--says I, beginning to stammer--"that you might
live here thus content to the end of your days?"

"The end of my days?" says she staring thoughtfully into the fire.
"Why, Martin, this is a long way in the future I do pray, and our
future is in the hands of God, so wherefore trouble?"

"Because I who have been stranger to Happiness hitherto, dread lest it
may desert me and leave me the more woeful."

"Are you then happy at last--and so suddenly, Martin?"

Now this put me to no little heart-searching and perplexity, for
casting back over the time since our landing on the island I knew that,
despite my glooms and ill-humours, happiness had come to me in that
hour I had found her alive.

"Why, I am no longer the miserable wretc