The Daughter of Anderson Crow
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.
CHAPTER IX
The Village Queen
The spring of 1903 brought Rosalie back to Tinkletown after her second
and last year with Miss Brown in New York City. The sun seemed brighter,
the birds sang more blithely, the flowers took on a new fragrance and
the village spruced up as if Sunday was the only day in the week. The
young men of the town trembled when she passed them by, and not a few of
them grew thin and haggard for want of food and sleep, having lost both
appetite and repose through a relapse in love. Her smile was the same as
of yore, her cheery greetings the same, and yet the village swains stood
in awe of this fine young aristocrat for days and days. Gradually it
dawned upon them that she was human, after all, despite her New York
training, and they slowly resumed the old-time manner of courting, which
was with the eyes exclusively.
A few of the more venturesome--but not the more ardent--asked her to go
walking, driving, or to the church "sociables," and there was a rivalry
in town which threatened to upset commerce. There was no theatre in
Tinkletown, but they delighted in her descriptions of the gorgeous
play-houses in New York. The town hall seemed smaller than ever to them.
The younger merchants and their clerks neglected business with charming
impartiality, and trade was going to "rack and ruin" until Rosalie
declined to marry George Rawlins, the minister's son. He was looked upon
as the favoured one; but she refused him in such a decisive manner that
all others lost hope and courage. It is on record that the day after
George's _congé_ Tinkletown indulged in a complete business somersault.
Never before had there been such strict attention to customers;
merchants and clerks alike settled down to the inevitable and tried to
banish Rosalie's face from the cost tags and trading stamps of their
dull, mercantile cloister. Even Tony Brink, the blacksmith's 'prentice,
fell into the habits of industry, but with an absent-mindedness that got
him kicked through a partition in the smithy when he attempted to shoe
the fetlock of Mr. Martin's colt instead of its hoof.
The Crow family took on a new dignity. Anderson gave fifty dollars to
the Foreign Missionary Society of the Presbyterian Church, claiming that
a foreign education had done so much for his ward; and Mrs. Crow
succeeded in holding two big afternoon teas before Rosalie could apply
the check rein.
One night Anderson sat up until nearly ten o'clock--an unheard-of
proceeding for him. Rosalie, with the elder Crow girls, Edna and Susie,
had gone to protracted meeting with a party of young men and women. The
younger boys and girls were in bed, and Mrs. Crow was yawning
prodigiously. She never retired until Anderson was ready to do likewise.
Suddenly it dawned upon her that he was unusually quiet and
preoccupied. They were sitting on the moonlit porch.
"What's the matter, Anderson? Ain't you well?" she asked at last.
"No; I'm just thinkin'," he responded, rather dismally. "Doggone, I
cain't get it out of my head, Eva."
"Can't get what out?"
"About Rosalie."
"Well, what about her?"
"That's jest like a woman--always fergittin' the most important things
in the world. Don't you know that the twenty years is up?"
"Of course I know it, but 'tain't worryin' me any. She's still here,
ain't she? Nobody has come to take her away. The thousand dollars came
all right last February, didn't it? Well, what's the use worryin'?"
"Mebbe you're right, but I'm skeered to death fer fear some one will
turn up an' claim her, er that a big estate will be settled, er
somethin' awful like that. I don't mind the money, Eva; I jest hate to
think of losin' her, now that she's such a credit to us. Besides, I'm up
a stump about next year."
"Well, what happens then?"
"Derned if I know. That's what's worryin' me."
"I don't see why you--"