When is pain not a pain?

A little girl was screaming outside. By the sound if it, it could be quite serious. I went out to find out what it was about. Hmm, maybe not – the little thing was curled up in a lump on the grass. Her sister, who might normally help her, was nowhere to be seen. I inspected her hands, legs and head.
“There’s no blood,” I told her. “What’s the problem?”
“My sister pulled my hair,” she managed to cry, between lolling around on the floor, like a beached whale would if the lawn was a good place to beach.
Ah, not only an injury, but an offence. So off we went, to tell the bully sister that she was forgiven for her most cruel pulling of hair.
“I forgive you for pulling my hair.” (Hug)
“Here’s something nice for you,” said the offender.
Close, but not quite. I suggested, “Don’t you want to say something to your sister about pulling her hair?”
“I’m sorry I pulled your hair.” Ah, sweet, the offender shows repentance.
“It’s okay, it wasn’t so sore.”