eart
gave a great thump of understanding.

"By ginger, you are her mother!" he gasped. Mrs. Crow came in at this
juncture, and she was much quicker at grasping the situation than her
husband. It was in her mind to openly denounce the woman for her
heartlessness, but her natural thriftiness interposed. She would do
nothing that might remove the golden spoon from the family mouth.

The trio stole upstairs and into the warm bedchamber. There, with
Anderson Crow and his wife looking on from a remote corner of the room,
the tall woman in black knelt beside the crib that had housed a
generation of Crows. The sleeping Rosalie did not know of the soft
kisses that swept her little cheek. She did not feel the tears that fell
when the visitor lifted her veil, nor did she hear the whisperings that
rose to the woman's lips.

"That is all," murmured the mysterious stranger at last, dropping her
veil as she arose. She staggered as she started for the door, but
recovered herself instantly. Without a word she left the room, the
Crows following her down the stairs in silence. At the bottom she
paused, and then extended her hands to the old couple. Her voice
faltered as she spoke.

"Let me clasp your hands and let me tell you that my love and my prayers
are forever for you and for that little one up there. Thank you. I know
you will be good to her. She is well born. Her blood is as good as the
best. Above all things, Mrs. Crow, she is not illegitimate. You may
easily suspect that her parents are wealthy or they could not pay so
well for her care. Some day the mystery surrounding her will be cleared.
It may not be for many years. I can safely say that she will be left in
your care for twenty years at least. Some day you will know why it is
that Rosalie is not supposed to exist. God bless you."

She was gone before they could utter a word. They watched her walk
swiftly into the darkness; a few minutes later the sound of carriage
wheels suddenly broke upon the air. Anderson Crow and his wife stood
over the "base-burner," and there were tears in their thoughtful eyes.

"She said twenty years, Eva. Let's see, this is 1883. What would that
make it?"

"About 1903 or 1904, Anderson."

"Well, I guess we c'n wait if other people can," mused he. Then they
went slowly upstairs and to bed.

CHAPTER VIII

Some Years Go By

Tinkletown as a unit supported Anderson in his application for
guardianship papers. They were filed immediat