Her hat was off, and her hair, where the sun fell on it through the leaves, was almost the color of her eyes.
But what was the real color of her eyes?
Sandy brought all his intellect to bear upon the momentous question.

Sometimes, he thought, they were as dark as the velvet shadows in the heart of the stream; sometimes they were lighted by tiny flames of gold that sparkled in the brown depths as the sunshine sparkled in the shadows.

They were deep as his love and bright as his hope.
Suddenly he realized that she had asked him a question.
"It's never a word I've heard of what ye are saying!" he exclaimed contritely.

"My mind was on your eyes, and the brown of them.

Do they keep changing color like that all the time ?" Ruth, thus earnestly appealed to, blushed furiously.
"I was talking about the river," she said quickly.