Calm and tranquil, like an aloof goddess, she sat on a boulder in a grassy knoll overlooking the sea. She wore a knee-length garment which seemed to be woven of plaited grass. Her long golden hair hung in loose braids over her shoulders, and she cuddled a chick to her breast, cupping it in both hands while the mother hen, with the rest of her brood, clucked at her feet. On the slope above, a black and white pup paused in the act of worrying a stick, and stood looking at the newcomer with one ear comically cocked.
Marlin stared entranced. He had no impulse to approach, but only to fill his eyes with the lovely picture she made—to feed his starved soul with the tranquility of her unconscious pose. Mature, brooding, poised—a veritable part of it she seemed—an expression of the universal mother-spirit.
When she glanced up from the fluffy thing cuddled in her hands, she seemed scarcely surprised at seeing him, but her full lips broke into a smile of pleased welcome.
As she deposited the fledgling on the ground among its mates, he took a diffident step toward her, then another.
"Pearl!" he muttered in a choked voice, and dropped on his knees beside her.
She looked down understandingly. Extending both hands, she clasped them behind his head and drew his face gently to the warm hollow where the chick had nestled.