of the marshal's methods.

"It's the only real mean thing I ever heard of you doing, daddy Crow!"
she cried. "It was cruel!"

"Course you'd take her part, bein' a woman," said he serenely. "Mrs.
Crow did, too, when I told her about it twenty years ago. Women ain't
got much sense of humour, have they, Wick?" He was calling him Wick
nowadays; and the young man enjoyed the familiarity.

The days came when Bonner could walk about with his cane, and he was not
slow to avail himself of the privilege this afforded. It meant enjoyable
strolls with Rosalie, and it meant the elevation of his spirits to such
heights that the skies formed no bounds for them. The town was not slow
to draw conclusions. Every one said it would be a "match." It was
certain that the interesting Boston man had acquired a clear field.
Tinkletown's beaux gave up in despair and dropped out of the contest
with the hope that complete recovery from his injuries might not only
banish Bonner from the village, but also from the thoughts of Rosalie
Gray. Most of the young men took their medicine philosophically. They
had known from the first that their chances were small. Blootch Peabody
and Ed Higgins, because of the personal rivalry between themselves,
hoped on and on and grew more bitter between themselves, instead of
toward Bonner.

[Illustration: "'I beg your pardon,' he said humbly"]

Anderson Crow and Eva were delighted and the Misses Crow, after futile
efforts to interest the young man in their own wares, fell in with the
old folks and exuberantly whispered to the world that "it would be
perfectly glorious." Roscoe was not so charitable. He was soundly
disgusted with the thought of losing his friend Bonner in the hated
bonds of matrimony. From his juvenile point of view, it was a fate
that a good fellow like Bonner did not deserve. Even Rosalie was not
good enough for him, so he told Bud Long; but Bud, who had worshipped
Rosalie with a hopeless devotion through most of his short life, took
strong though sheepish exceptions to the remark. It seemed quite settled
in the minds of every one but Bonner and Rosalie themselves. They went
along evenly, happily, perhaps dreamily, letting the present and the
future take care of themselves as best they could, making mountains of
the past--mountains so high and sheer that they could not be surmounted
in retreat.

Bonner was helplessly in love--so much so, indeed, that in the face of
it, he lost the courage tha