Last of all trotted the dog, warily, suspicious of the descent. The boys
emerged into the bay with a shout; the dog rushed, barking, after them.
The little one waited for her father, calling shrilly:

'Tiss can't fall now, can she, dadda? Shall I put her down?'

'Ay, let her have a run,' said the father.

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