character, origin, and
plausibility. A dozen persons saw him stop young Mrs. Perkins in front
of Lamson's store, and the same spectators saw his feathers droop as she
let loose her wrath upon his head and went away with her nose in the air
and her cheeks far more scarlet than when Boreas kissed them, and all in
response to a single remark volunteered by the faithful detective. He
entered Lamson's store a moment later, singularly abashed and red in the
face.

"Doggone," he observed, seeing that an explanation was expected, "she
might 'a' knowed I was only foolin'."

A few minutes later he had Alf Reesling, the town sot, in a far corner
of the store talking to him in a most peremptory fashion. It may be well
to mention that Alf had so far forgotten himself as to laugh at the
marshal's temporary discomfiture at the hands of Mrs. Perkins.

"Alf, have you been havin' another baby up to your house without lettin'
me know?" demanded Anderson firmly.

"Anderson," replied Alf, maudlin tears starting in his eyes, "it's not
kind of you to rake up my feelin's like this. You know I been a widower
fer three years."

"I want you to understand one thing, Alf Reesling. A detective never
_knows_ anything till he proves it. Let me warn you, sir, you are under
suspicion. An' now, let me tell you one thing more. Doggone your ornery
hide, don't you ever laugh ag'in like you did jest now er I'll--"

Just then the door flew open with a bang and Edna Crow, Anderson's
eldest, almost flopped into the store, her cap in her hand, eyes
starting from her head. She had run at top speed all the way from home.

"Pop," she gasped. "Ma says fer you to hurry home! She says fer you to
_run_!"

Anderson covered the distance between Lamson's store and his own home in
record time. Indeed, Edna, flying as fast as her slim legs could
twinkle, barely beat her father to the front porch. It was quite clear
to Mr. Crow that something unusual had happened or Mrs. Crow would not
have summoned him so peremptorily.

She was in the hallway downstairs awaiting his arrival, visibly
agitated. Before uttering a word she dragged him into the little
sitting-room and closed the door. They were alone.

"Is it dead?" he panted.

"No, but what do you think, Anderson?" she questioned excitedly.

"I ain't had time to think. You don't mean to say it has begun to talk
an' c'n tell who it is," he faltered.

"Heavens no--an' it only six weeks old."

"Well, then, what i