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.