Partly descending the hill, he sat down beneath a thorn-bush, looking on the landscape spread below him. Sounds of life came to him on the quiet air; here was the clarion note of a cock, the bark of a dog, the lowing of cows, and the tinkle of a bell at the neck of some goat. The time passed pleasantly enough beneath the thorn-bush. He found himself in no mood to desert his post. Dreamily he watched the shifting lights and shadows in the valley, and on the hills beyond. The sound of footsteps brought him again to the present. He looked up. Almost opposite to him were a boy and girl, the boy ten years old or thereabouts, the girl some three years younger. Her brown hair was covered with a purple hood; a dress of the same colour fell to her ankles; a white kerchief was folded about her neck; her arms were full of bluebells. The boy, a sturdy fellow, clad in green tunic and hose, and having a brown cap on his head, held a great sheaf of cherry blossom. Peregrine straightway thought of Pippo. Coming to a halt they gazed at him, round-eyed, astonished at the sight of a stranger. “Good-day,” quoth Peregrine smiling at their astonishment. “Good-day,” echoed the boy. The girl remained mute; a very shy maiden. “You are well laden,” said Peregrine. The boy glanced at his burden. “We take them to the church yonder.” He nodded leftwards up the hill. Peregrine half turned; saw what had before escaped his notice, a small grey church on the hillside, set on the edge of the forest. “You carry a fair tribute thither,” quoth he. “’Tis Easter Eve,” said the boy bluntly. “Oh!” breathed Peregrine. The syllable showing him ignorant of the fact, the children eyed him puzzled. How should the passing of the Solemn Week have escaped him unobserved? This is what their glances asked, though they found no words. “She takes bluebells,” said the boy, nodding towards the girl. “She says Christ must surely love them, since they are the colour of His Mother’s robe. I climbed for my cherry blossom.” Here Peregrine saw Pippo again. His mouth curved to smile, though memory brought a lurking sadness to his eyes. Finding no further speech come handy, the boy turned to the girl. “Come,” he said. “Father Felix bade us be betimes.” Together they wended their way up the hillside. Peregrine looked after them, and towards the church. * * * * * The sun had fallen behind the forest, leaving it purple-blue against a rosy sky toning upwards to lilac and grey. The air was alive and fragrant with the breath of spring. A thrush sang in an elm tree set close against the church.