The throbbing of his pulses rather than the assurance of his eyes told him that Molly was approaching; and as the bit of colour drew nearer amid the stubble, he recognized the jacket of crimson wool that the girl wore as a wrap on chill autumn mornings.

On her head there was a small knitted cap matching the jacket, and this resting on her riotous brown curls, lent a touch of boyish gallantry to her slender figure.

Like most women of mobile features and ardent temperament, her beauty depended so largely upon her mood that Abel had seen her change from positive plainness to amazing loveliness in the space of a minute.
Her small round face, with its wonderful eyes, dimpled now over the crimson jacket.
"Abel!" she called softly, and paused with one foot on the log while the water sparkled beneath her.

Ten minutes before he had vowed to himself that she had used him badly and he would hold off until she made sufficient amends; but in forming this resolution, he had reckoned without the probable intervention of Molly.
"I thought--as long as I was going by--that I'd stop and speak to you," she said.
He shook his head, unsoftened as yet by her presence.

"You didn't treat me fair yesterday, Molly," he answered.
"Oh, I wanted to tell you about that.