Very carefully she lowered the kitten which she had carried clasped to her bosom. The mite was bewildered and scared. It turned round pathetically.
“Go on, Tissie; you’re all right,” said the child. “Go on; have a run on the sand.”
The kitten stood dubious and unhappy. Then, perceiving the dog some distance ahead, it scampered after him, a fluffy, scurrying mite. But the dog had already raced into the water. The kitten walked a few steps, turning its small face this way and that, and mewing piteously. It looked extraordinarily tiny as it stood, a fluffy handful, staring away from the noisy water, its thin cry floating over the plash of waves.
Helena glanced at Siegmund, and her eyes were shining with pity. He was watching the kitten and smiling.
“Crying because things are too big, and it can’t take them in,” he said.
“But look how frightened it is,” she said.
“So am I.” He laughed. “And if there are any gods looking on and laughing at me, at least they won’t be kind enough to put me in their pinafores….”
She laughed very quickly.
“But why?” she exclaimed. “Why should you want putting in a pinafore?”
“I don’t,” he laughed.