"You are worried about something, Daddy Crow," she said gently. "Now, speak up, sir. What is it?"
"It's time you were in bed," scolded Anderson, pulling his whiskers nervously.
"Oh, I'm young, daddy. I don't need sleep. But you never have been up as late as this since I've known you."
"I was up later'n this the time you had the whoopin'-cough, all right."
"What's troubling you, daddy?"
"Oh, nothin'—nothin' at all. Doggone, cain't a man set out on his own porch 'thout—"
"Forgive me, daddy. Shall I go away and leave you?"
"Gosh a'mighty, no!" he gasped. "That's what's worryin' me—oh, you didn't mean forever. You jest meant to-night? Geminy crickets, you did give me a skeer!" He sank back with a great sigh of relief.
"Why, I never expect to leave you forever," she cried, caressing his scanty hair. "You couldn't drive me away. This is home, and you've been too good to me all these years. I may want to travel after a while, but I'll always come back to you, Daddy Crow."
"I'm—I'm mighty glad to hear ye say that, Rosie. Ye see—ye see, me an' your ma kinder learned to love you, an'—an—"