Miss Banks's appointment came through the agency of the district's congressman, in whose home she had acted as governess for a period. Moreover, she answered the description in that she was young, pretty, and refined. Anderson Crow felt that he was on the right track; he was now engaged in as pretty a piece of detective business as had ever fallen to his lot, and he was not going to spoil it by haste and overconfidence.
Just why Anderson Crow should "shadow" the schoolhouse instead of the teacher's temporary place of abode no one could possibly have known but himself—and it is doubtful if he knew. He resolved not to answer the Chicago letter until he was quite ready to produce the girl and the proof desired.
"I'd be a gol-swiggled fool to put 'em onter my s'picions an' then have 'em cheat me out of the reward," he reflected keenly. "You cain't trust them Chicago lawyers an inch an' a half. Doggone it, I'll never fergit that feller who got my pockit-book out to Central Park that time. He tole me positively he was a lawyer from Chicago, an' had an office in the Y.M.C.A. Building. An' the idee of him tellin' me he wanted to see if my pockit-book had better leather in it than hisn!"
The fact that the school children, big and little, loved Miss Banks possessed no point of influence over their elders of the feminine persuasion. They turned up their Tinkletown noses and sniffed at her because she was a "vain creature," who thought more of "attractin' the men than she did of anything else on earth." And all this in spite of the fact that she was the intimate friend of the town goddess, Rosalie Gray.
Everybody in school No. 5 over the age of seven was deeply, jealously in love with Miss Banks. Many a frozen snowball did its deadly work from ambush because of this impotent jealousy.
But the merriest rivalry was that which developed between Ed Higgins, the Beau Brummel of Tinkletown, and 'Rast Little, whose father owned the biggest farm in Bramble County. If she was amused by the frantic efforts of each suitor to outwit the other she was too tactful to display her emotion. Perhaps she was more highly entertained by the manner in which Tinkletown femininity paired its venom with masculine admiration.
"Mornin', Miss Banks," was Anderson's greeting as he stamped noisily into the room. He forgot that he had said good-morning to her when she stopped in to see Rosalie on her way to the schoolhouse. The children ceased their outdoor game and peered eagerly through the windows, conscious that the visit of this dignitary was of supreme importance. Miss Banks looked up from the papers she was correcting, the pucker vanishing from her pretty brow as if by magic.
"Good-morning, Mr. Crow. What are you doing away out here in the country? Jimmy"—to a small boy—"please close the door." Anderson had left it open, and it was a raw January wind which followed him into the room.
"'Scuse me," he murmured. "Seems I ain't got sense enough to shet a door even. My wife says—but you don't keer to hear about that, do you? Oh, I jest dropped in," finally answering her question. He took a bench near the big stove and spread his hands before the sheet-iron warmth. "Lookin' up a little affair, that's all. Powerful chilly, ain't it?"