CHAPTER VIII

Some Years Go By

Tinkletown as a unit supported Anderson in his application for

guardianship papers. They were filed immediately after the secret visit

of the mysterious woman; the Circuit Court at Boggs City, after hearing

the evidence, at once entered the appointment of Mr. Crow. When the

court asked in mild surprise why he did not adopt the child, Anderson

and Eva looked at each other sheepishly and were silent for a full

minute. Then Anderson spoke up a bit huskily:

"Well, you see, judge, her name would have to be Crow, an' while it's a

good name an' an honoured one, it don't jest seem to fit the young 'un.

She 'pears to be more of a canary than a crow, figuratively speakin',

and Eva an' me jest decided we'd give her a different sort of a last

name if we could find one. Seems to me that Rosie Canary would be a good

one, but Eva an' the childern are ag'in me. They've decided to call her

Rosalie Gray, an' I guess that about settles it. If you don't mind, I

reckon that name c'n go in the records. Besides, you must recollect that

she's liable to have a lot of property some time, an' it seems more fit

fer me to be guardian than foster-father if that time ever comes. It'll

be easier to say good-bye if she keers to leave us."

That same day Anderson deposited two hundred and fifty dollars to his

credit in the First National Bank, saying to his wife as he walked away

from the teller's window, "I guess Rosalie cain't starve till the bank

busts, an' maybe not then."

Of course Tinkletown knew that a sum of money had been paid to Anderson,

but no one knew that it had been handed to him in person by an

interested party. Had Anderson and his wife even whispered that such a

visit had occurred, the town would have gone into a convulsion of wrath;

the marshal's pedestal would have been jerked out from under him without

compunction or mercy. Eva cautioned him to be more than silent on the

subject for the child's sake as well as for their own, and Anderson saw

wisdom in her counselling. He even lagged in his avowed intention to

unravel the mystery or die in the attempt. A sharp reminder in the shape

of an item in the _Banner_ restored his energies, and he again took up

the case with a vigour that startled even himself. Anything in the shape

of vigour startled his wife.

Harry Squires, the reporter, who poked more or less fun at Anderson from

time to time because he had the "power of the press behind him," some

weeks later wrote the following item about the "baby mystery," as he

called it, in large type:

"There is no news in regard to the child found upon the doorstep of

our esteemed fellow-citizen Anderson Crow, last February. The item

concerning its discovery first appeared in the columns of the

_Banner_, as will be remembered by our many readers. Detective

Crow promised developments some time ago, but they have not showed

up. It is rumoured that he has a new clew, but it cannot be

substantiated. The general impression is that he does not know

whether it is a boy or girl. We advise Mr. Crow to go slow. He

should not forget the time when he arrested Mr. John Barnes, two

years ago, for the murder of Mr. Grover, and afterward found that

the young gent was merely eloping with Judge Brewster's daughter,

which was no crime. We saw the girl. Those of our readers who were

alive at the time doubtless recall the excitement of that man-hunt

two years ago. Mr. Barnes, as innocent as a child unborn, came to

our little city engaged in the innocent pastime of getting married.

At the same time it was reported that a murder had been committed

in this county. Mr. Crow had his suspicions aroused and pursued Mr.

Barnes down the river and arrested him. It was a fine piece of

detective work. But, unfortunately for Mr. Crow, the real murderer

had been caught in the meantime. Mr. Barnes was guilty only of

stealing judge Brewster's daughter and getting married to her. The

last heard of them they were happy in New York. They even forgave

Mr. Crow, it is reported. It is to be hoped that our clever

detective will soon jump down upon the heartless parents of this

innocent child, but it is also to be hoped that he think at least

four times before he leaps."

To say that the foregoing editorial disturbed the evenness of Mr. Crow's

temper would be saying nothing at all. In the privacy of his barn lot

Anderson did a war dance that shamed Tecumseh. He threatened to

annihilate Harry Squires "from head to foot," for publishing the base

slander.

"Doggone his hide," roared poor Anderson, "fer two cents I'd tell all I

know about him bein' tight up at Boggs City three years ago. He couldn't

walk half an inch that time without staggerin'. Anyhow, I wouldn't have

chased Mr. Barnes that time if it hadn't been fer Harry Squires. He

egged me on, doggone his hide. If he didn't have that big typesetter

from Albany over at the _Banner_ office to back him up I'd go over an'

bust his snoot fer him. After all the items I've give him, too. That's

all the thanks you git fer gittin' up news fer them blamed reporters.

But I'll show him! I wonder what he'd think if I traced that baby right

up to his own--_What's_ that, Eva? Well, now, you don't know anything

about it neither, so keep your mouth shet. Harry Squires is a purty sly

cuss. Mebby it's his'n. You ain't supposed to know. You jest let me do

my own deducin'. I don't want no blamed woman tellin' me who to shadder.

An' you, too, Edner; get out of the way, consarn ye! The next thing

_you'll_ be tellin' me what to do--an' me your father, too!"

And that is why Anderson Crow resumed his search for the parents of

Rosalie Gray. Not that he hoped or expected to find them, but to offset

the pernicious influence of Harry's "item." For many days he followed

the most highly impossible clews, some of them intractable, to supply a

rather unusual word of description. In other words, they reacted with a

vigour that often found him unprepared but serene. Consequences bothered

Anderson but little in those days of despised activity.

It is not necessary to dwell upon the incidents of the ensuing years,

which saw Rosalie crawl from babyhood to childhood and then stride

proudly through the teens with a springiness that boded ill for Father

Time. Regularly each succeeding February there came to Anderson Crow a

package of twenty dollar bills amounting to one thousand dollars, the

mails being inscrutable. The Crow family prospered correspondingly, but

there was a liberal frugality behind it all that meant well for Rosalie

when the time came for an accounting. Anderson and Eva "laid by" a

goodly portion of the money for the child, whom they loved as one of

their own flesh and blood. The district school lessons were followed

later on by a boarding-school education down State, and then came the

finishing touches at Miss Brown's in New York.

Rosalie grew into a rare flower, as dainty as the rose, as piquant as

the daisy. The unmistakable mark of the high bred glowed in her face,

the fine traces of blue blood graced her every movement, her every tone

and look. At the time that she, as well as every one else in Tinkletown,

for that matter, was twenty years older than when she first came to

Anderson's home, we find her the queen of the village, its one rich

human possession, its one truly sophisticated inhabitant. Anderson Crow

and his wife were so proud of her that they forgot their duty to their

own offspring; but if the Crow children resented this it was not

exhibited in the expressions of love and admiration for their

foster-sister. Edna Crow, the eldest of the girls--Anderson called her

"Edner"--was Rosalie's most devoted slave, while Roscoe, the

twelve-year-old boy, who comprised the rear rank of Anderson's little

army, knelt so constantly at her shrine that he fell far behind in his

studies, and stuck to the third reader for two years.

Anderson had not been idle in all these years. He was fast approaching

his seventieth anniversary, but he was not a day older in spirit than

when we first made his acquaintance. True, his hair was thinner and

whiter, and his whiskers straggled a little more carelessly than in

other days, but he was as young and active as a youth of twenty. Hard

times did not worry him, nor did domestic troubles. Mrs. Crow often

admitted that she tried her best to worry him, but it was like "pouring

water on a duck's back." He went blissfully on his way, earning

encomiums for himself and honours for Tinkletown. There was no grave

crime committed in the land that he did not have a well-defined scheme

for apprehending the perpetrators. His "deductions" at Lamson's store

never failed to draw out and hold large audiences, and no one disputed

his theories in public. The fact that he was responsible for the arrest

of various hog, horse, and chicken thieves from time to time, and for

the continuous seizure of the two town drunkards, Tom Folly and Alf

Reesling, kept his reputation untarnished, despite the numerous errors

of commission and omission that crept in between.

That Rosalie's mysterious friends--or enemies, it might have been--kept

close and accurate watch over her was manifested from time to time.

Once, when Anderson was very ill with typhoid fever, the package of

bills was accompanied by an unsigned, typewritten letter. The writer

announced that Mr. Crow's state of health was causing some anxiety on

Rosalie's account--the child was then six years old--and it was hoped

that nothing serious would result. Another time the strange writer, in a

letter from Paris, instructed Mr. Crow to send Rosalie to a certain

boarding school and to see that she had French, German, and music from

competent instructors. Again, just before the girl went to New York for

her two years' stay in Miss Brown's school, there came a package

containing $2500 for her own personal use. Rosalie often spoke to

Anderson of this mysterious sender as the "fairy godmother"; but the old

marshal had a deeper and more significant opinion.

Perhaps the most anxious period in the life of Anderson Crow came when

Rosalie was about ten years old. A new sheriff had been elected in

Bramble County, and he posed as a reformer. His sister taught school in

Tinkletown, and Rosalie was her favourite. She took an interest in the

child that was almost the undoing of Mr. Crow's prosperity. Imagining

that she was befriending the girl, the teacher appealed to her brother,

the sheriff, insisting that he do what he could to solve the mystery of

her birth. The sheriff saw a chance to distinguish himself. He enlisted

the help of an aggressive prosecuting attorney, also new, and set about

to investigate the case.

The two officers of the law descended upon Tinkletown one day and began

to ask peremptory questions. They went about it in such a high-handed,

lordly manner that Anderson took alarm and his heart sank like lead. He

saw in his mind's eye the utter collapse of all his hopes, the dashing

away of his cup of leisure and the upsetting of the "fairy godmother's"

plans. Pulling his wits together, he set about to frustrate the attack

of the meddlers. Whether it was his shrewdness in placing obstacles in

their way or whether he coerced the denizens into blocking the sheriff's

investigation does not matter. It is only necessary to say that the

officious gentleman from Boggs City finally gave up the quest in disgust

and retired into the oblivion usual to county officials who try to be

progressive. It was many weeks, however, before Anderson slept soundly.

He was once more happy in the consciousness that Rosalie had been saved

from disaster and that he had done his duty by her.

"I'd like to know how them doggone jays from Boggs City expected to find

out anything about that child when I hain't been able to," growled Mr.

Crow in Lamson's store one night. "If they'll jest keep their blamed

noses out of this affair I'll find out who her parents are some day. It

takes time to trace down things like this. I guess I know what I'm

doin', don't I, boys?"

"That's what you do, Anderson," said Mr. Lamson, as Anderson reached

over and took a handful of licorice drops from the jar on the counter.