For a moment she stood looking after him, her lips parted, her eyes wide
and bright as if she were asking a question.
"I am hard--hard and cruel," she thought as she went slowly up the
witch-hazel path that led by the Poplar Spring, "but I wonder--oh, I
wonder if I treat Abel worst because I like him best?"
CHAPTER XI
A FLIGHT AND AN ENCOUNTER
When Abel had flung himself over the fence, he snatched the collar from
his neck and threw it away from him into the high grass of the meadow.
The act was symbolical not only of his revolt from the power of love,
but, in a larger measure, of his rebellion against the tyranny of
convention. Henceforth his Sunday clothes might hang in the closet,
for he would never again bend his neck to the starched yoke of custom.
Everything had been for Molly forever. Her smiles or her frowns,
her softness or her cruelty, would make no difference to him in the
future--for had not Molly openly implied that she preferred Mr. Mullen?
So this was the end of it all--the end of his ambition, of his struggle
to raise himself, of his battle for a little learning that she might not
be ashamed.
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