Well, since after the day's work had begun she would find no opportunity, she would go down and thank Peter now, and see if she could make him talk for once.
So Margaret threw her fur-trimmed cloak about her, drawing its hood over her head, for the April air was cold, and followed Peter into the garden.

When she reached it, however, there was no Peter to be seen, whereon she reproached herself for having come to that damp place so early and meditated return.

Then, thinking that it would look foolish if 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.