any had chanced to see her, she walked down the path pretending to seek
for violets, and found none. Thus she came to the group of great elms at
the end, and, glancing between their ancient boles, saw Peter standing
there. Now, too, she understood why she could find no violets, for Peter
had gathered them all, and was engaged, awkwardly enough, in trying to
tie them and some leaves into a little posy by the help of a stem of
grass. With his left hand he held the violets, with his right one end of
the grass, and since he lacked fingers to clasp the other, this he
attempted with his teeth. Now he drew it tight, and now the brittle
grass stem broke, the violets were scattered, and Peter used words that
he should not have uttered even when alone.

"I knew you would break it, but I never thought you could lose your
temper over so small a thing, Peter," said Margaret; and he in the
shadow looked up to see her standing there in the sunlight, fresh and
lovely as the spring itself.

Solemnly, in severe reproof, she shook her head, from which the hood had
fallen back, but there was a smile upon her lips, and laughter in her
eyes. Oh! she was beautiful, and at the sight of her Peter's heart stood
still. Then, remembering what he had just said, and certain other things
that Master Castell had said, he blushed so deeply that her own cheeks
went red in sympathy. It was foolish, but she could not help it, for
about Peter this morning there was something strange, something that
bred blushes.

"For whom are you gathering violets so early," she asked, "when you
ought to be praying for that Scotchman's soul?"

"I care nothing for his soul," answered Peter testily. "If the brute had