Kitty screamed, or shrieked, or whatever name best expresses her discordant and piercing yells.

I more than suspect I shrieked too, partly at the difficulty of keeping both Kitty and Helen in any sort of order, and partly at my own insecurity.

No sooner had Helen landed on the other side, than she fled homewards as if a tin kettle were tied to her tail.
The speed at which we dashed through the fragrant summer air completely took away Kitty's breath, and the poor creature appeared more dead than alive by the time I dismounted, trembling myself in every limb for her safety as well as my own, at the garden gate.
However, next morning brought a renewed delight in existence to both Kitty and me, and our night's sleep had made us forget our agitation and peril.

After breakfast I introduced her to the poultry yard, and she adapted herself to her new home with a tact and good humour most edifying to behold.

Months passed away.