I Become a Jack-of-all-Trades

(Drawing of a spoon.) "'Tis wonderful!" cries she, turning it this way and that. "'Tis admirable!"

"It might be better!" says I, wishing I had given more labour to it.

"I want no better, Martin!" And now she would have me make another for myself.

"Nay, mine can wait. But there is your comb to make."

"How shall you do that, Martin?"

"Of wood, like the Indians, but 'twill take time!"

"Why then, it shall wait with your spoon, first should come necessities."

"As what?"

"Dear Heaven, they be so many!" says she with rueful laugh. "For one thing, a cooking-pot, Martin."

"There is our turtle-shell!" says I.

"Why, 'tis very well, Martin, for a turtle-shell, but clumsy--a little. I would have a pan--with handles if you could contrive. And then plates would be a good thing."

"Handles?" says I, rubbing my chin. "Handles--aye, by all means, a pan with handles, but for this we must have clay."

"And then, Martin, platters would be useful things!"

"So they will!" I nodded. "These I can fashion of wood."

"And then chairs, and a table, Martin."

"True!" says I, growing gloomy. "Table and chairs would be easy had I but a saw! I could make you shelves and a cupboard had I but fortuned to find a saw instead of this hatchet."

"Nay, Martin," says she, smiling at my doleful visage. "Why this despond? If you can make me so wondrous a spoon with nought but your knife and a piece of driftwood, I know you will make me chairs and table of sorts, saw or no, aye, if our table be but a board laid across stones, and our chairs the same."