“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.