armed his nose to a
half-broiled shade of red. On the lapel of his overcoat glistened his
social and official badges, augmented by a new and particularly shiny
emblem of respect bestowed by the citizens of Tinkletown.

At first it had been the sense of the town to erect a monument in
recognition of his part in the capture of the Bramble County horse-thief
gang, but a thrifty and considerate committee of five substituted a
fancy gold badge with suitable inscriptions on both sides, extolling him
to the skies "long before he went there hisself" (to quote Uncle Gideon
Luce, whose bump of perception was a stubborn prophet when it came to
picking out the site of Mr. Crow's heaven). For a full half hour the
marshal of Tinkletown had been standing among the trees surveying the
schoolhouse at the foot of the slope. If his frosted cheeks and watery
eyes ached for the warmth that urged the curls of smoke to soar away
from the chimney-top, his attitude did not betray the fact. He was
watching and thinking, and when Anderson thought of one thing he never
thought of another at the same time.

"It'll soon be recess time," he reflected. "Then I'll step down there
an' let on to be makin' a social call on the schoolma'am. By gum, I
believe she's the one! It'll take some tarnation good work to find out
the truth about her, but I guess I c'n do it all right. The only thing I
got to guard ag'inst is lettin' anybody else know of the mystery
surroundin' her. Gosh! it'll surprise some of the folks 'round here,
'specially Rosalie. An' mebby the township trustee won't be sorry he
give the school this year to a strange girl instid o' to Jane Rankin er
Effie Dickens! Congressman Ritchey hadn't no business puttin' his nose
into our affairs anyhow, no matter if this here teacher is a friend of
his fambly. He's got some kind a holt on these here trustees--'y gosh,
I'd like to know what 'tis. He c'n jest wrap 'em round his finger an'
make 'em app'int anybody he likes. Must be politics. There, it's recess!
I'll jest light out an' pay the schoolhouse a little visit."

Inside a capacious and official pocket of Mr. Crow's coat reposed a
letter from a law firm in Chicago. It asked if within the last two years
a young woman had applied for a position as teacher in the township
schools at Tinkletown. A description accompanied the inquiry, but it was
admitted she might have applied under a name not her own, which was
Marion Lovering. In explanation, the let