The Daughter of Anderson Crow

by George Barr McCutcheon

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.