He touched one little hand that rested on her knee.
“Poor little thing!” he said; “you are only a child.”
She did not draw her hand away from his, and looked up at him.
“You are very tired?”
“Yes.”
She looked into his eyes as a little child might whom a long day’s play had saddened.
He lifted her gently up, and sat her on his knee.
“Poor little thing!” he said.
She turned her face to his shoulder, and buried it against his neck; he wound his strong arm about her, and held her close to him. When she had sat for a long while, he drew with his hand the face down, and held it against his arm. He kissed it, and then put it back in its old resting-place.
“Don’t you want to talk to me?”