The Daughter of Anderson Crow
Mrs. Pool, the widow of a fisherman who had recently drowned himself in
drink.
It is quite possible that Anderson might have had the three infants on
his hands permanently had not the mothers been so eager to know their
fate. They appeared in person early the next morning to see if the
babies had frozen to death on the doorstep. Mrs. Pool even went so far
as to fetch some extra baby clothes which she had neglected to drop with
her male. Mrs. Raspus came for her basket, claiming it was the only one
she had in which to "tote" the washing for the men.
After these annoying but enlivening incidents Anderson was permitted to
recover from his daze and to throw off symptoms of nervous prostration.
Tinkletown resumed its tranquil attitude and the checker games began to
thrive once more. Little Rosalie was a week older than when she came,
but it was five weeks before anything happened to disturb the even tenor
of the foster-father's way. He had worked diligently in the effort to
discover the parents of the baby, but without result. Two or three
exasperated husbands in Tinkletown had threatened to blow his brains out
if he persisted in questioning their wives in his insinuating manner,
and one of the kitchen girls at the village inn threw a dishpan at him
on the occasion of his third visit of inquiry. A colored woman in the
employ of the Baptist minister denied that Rosalie was her child, but
when he insisted, agreed with fine sarcasm to "go over an' have a look
at it," after his assurance that it was perfectly white.
"Eva, I've investigated the case thoroughly," he said at last, "an'
there is no solution to the mystery. The only thing I c'n deduce is that
the child is here an' we'll have to take keer of her. Now, I wonder if
that woman really meant it when she said we'd have a thousand dollars
at the end of each year. Doggone, I wish the year was up, jest to see."
"We'll have to wait, Anderson, that's all," said Mrs. Crow. "I love the
baby so it can't matter much. I'm glad you're through investigatin'.
It's been most tryin' to me. Half the women in town don't speak to me."
It was at the end of Rosalie's fifth week as a member of the family that
something happened. Late one night when Anderson opened the front door
to put out the cat a heavily veiled woman mounted the steps and accosted
him. In some trepidation he drew back and would have closed the door but
for her eager remonstrance.
"I must see you, Mr. Crow," she cried in a low, agitated voice.
"Who are you?" he demanded. She was dressed entirely in black.
"I came to see you about the baby."
"That won't do, madam. There's been three tramps here to hornswoggle us
an' I--"
"I _must_ see her, Mr. Crow," pleaded the stranger, and he was struck by
the richness of her voice.
"Mighty queer, it seems to me," he muttered hesitatingly. "Are you any
kin to it?"
"I am very much interested."
"By giminy, I believe you're the one who left her here," cried the
detective. "Are you a typewriter?"
"I'll answer your questions if you'll allow me to step inside. It is
very cold out here."
Anderson Crow stood aside and the tall, black figure entered the hall.
He led her to the warm sitting-room and gave her a chair before the
"base-burner."
"Here, Mr. Crow, is an envelope containing two hundred and fifty
dollars. That proves my good faith. I cannot tell you who I am nor what
relation I bear to the baby. I am quite fully aware that you will not
undertake to detain me, for it is not an easy matter to earn a thousand
dollars a year in this part of the world. I am going abroad next week
and do not expect to return for a long, long time. Try as I would, I
could not go without seeing the child. I will not keep you out of bed
ten minutes, and you and your wife may be present while I hold Rosalie
in my arms. I know that she is in good hands, and I have no intention of
taking her away. Please call Mrs. Crow."
Anderson was too amazed to act at once. He began to flounder
interrogatively, but the visitor abruptly checked him.
"You are wasting time, Mr. Crow, in attempting to question my authority
or identity. No one need know that I have made this visit. You are
perfectly secure in the promise to have a thousand dollars a year; why
should you hesitate? As long as she lives with you the money is yours. I
am advancing the amount you now hold in order that her immediate wants
may be provided for. You are not required to keep an account of the
money paid to you. There are means of ascertaining at once whether she
is being well cared for and educated by you, and if it becomes apparent
that you are not doing your duty, she shall be removed from your
custody. From time to time you may expect written instructions
from--from one who loves her."
"I jest want to ast if you live in Tinkletown?" Anderson managed to say.
"I do not," she replied emphatically.
"Well, then, lift your veil. If you don't live here I sha'n't know you."
"I prefer to keep my face covered, Mr. Crow; believe me and trust me.
Please let me see her." The plea was so earnest that Anderson's heart
gave a great thump of understanding.
"By ginger, you are her mother!" he gasped. Mrs. Crow came in at this
juncture, and she was much quicker at grasping the situation than her
husband. It was in her mind to openly denounce the woman for her
heartlessness, but her natural thriftiness interposed. She would do
nothing that might remove the golden spoon from the family mouth.
The trio stole upstairs and into the warm bedchamber. There, with
Anderson Crow and his wife looking on from a remote corner of the room,
the tall woman in black knelt beside the crib that had housed a
generation of Crows. The sleeping Rosalie did not know of the soft
kisses that swept her little cheek. She did not feel the tears that fell
when the visitor lifted her veil, nor did she hear the whisperings that
rose to the woman's lips.
"That is all," murmured the mysterious stranger at last, dropping her
veil as she arose. She staggered as she started for the door, but
recovered herself instantly. Without a word she left the room, the
Crows following her down the stairs in silence. At the bottom she
paused, and then extended her hands to the old couple. Her voice
faltered as she spoke.
"Let me clasp your hands and let me tell you that my love and my prayers
are forever for you and for that little one up there. Thank you. I know
you will be good to her. She is well born. Her blood is as good as the
best. Above all things, Mrs. Crow, she is not illegitimate. You may
easily suspect that her parents are wealthy or they could not pay so
well for her care. Some day the mystery surrounding her will be cleared.
It may not be for many years. I can safely say that she will be left in
your care for twenty years at least. Some day you will know why it is
that Rosalie is not supposed to exist. God bless you."
She was gone before they could utter a word. They watched her walk
swiftly into the darkness; a few minutes later the sound of carriage
wheels suddenly broke upon the air. Anderson Crow and his wife stood
over the "base-burner," and there were tears in their thoughtful eyes.
"She said twenty years, Eva. Let's see, this is 1883. What would that
make it?"
"About 1903 or 1904, Anderson."
"Well, I guess we c'n wait if other people can," mused he. Then they
went slowly upstairs and to bed.
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."