interior of the house
was "tracked" with mud and slush and three window panes were broken by
the noses of curious but unwelcome spectators. Altogether, it was a
sensation unequalled in the history of the village. Through it all the
baby blinked and wept and cooed in perfect peace, guarded by Mrs. Crow
and the faithful progeny who had been left by the stork, and not by a
mysterious stranger.

The missionary societies wanted to do something heroic, but Mrs. Crow
headed them off; the sewing circle got ready to take charge of affairs,
but Mrs. Crow punctured the project; figuratively, the churches ached
for a chance to handle the infant, but Mrs. Crow stood between. And all
Tinkletown called upon Anderson Crow to solve the mystery before it was
a day older.

"It's purty hard to solve a mystery that's got six weeks' start o' me,"
said Anderson despairingly, "but I'll try, you bet. The doggone thing's
got a parent or two somewhere in the universe, an' I'll locate 'em er
explode somethin'. I've got a private opinion about it myself."

Whatever this private opinion might have been, it was not divulged.
Possibly something in connection with it might have accounted for the
temporary annoyance felt by nearly every respectable woman in
Tinkletown. The marshal eyed each and every one of them, irrespective of
position, condition or age, with a gleam so accusing that the Godliest
of them flushed and then turned cold. So knowing were these equitable
looks that before night every woman in the village was constrained to
believe the worst of her neighbour, and almost as ready to look with
suspicion upon herself.

One thing was certain--business was at a standstill in Tinkletown. The
old men forgot their chess and checker games at the corner store; young
men neglected their love affairs; women forgot to talk about each other;
children froze their ears rather than miss any of the talk that went
about the wintry streets; everybody was asking the question, "Whose baby
is it?"

But the greatest sensation of all came late in the day when Mrs. Crow,
in going over the garments worn by the babe, found a note addressed to
Anderson Crow. It was stitched to the baby's dress, and proved beyond
question that the strange visitor of the night before had selected not
only the house, but the individual. The note was to the point. It said:

"February 18, 1883.

"ANDERSON CROW: To your good and merciful care an unhappy creature
consi