Tinkletown resumed its tranquil attitude and the checker games began to
thrive once more. Little Rosalie was a week older than when she came,
but it was five weeks before anything happened to disturb the even tenor
of the foster-father's way. He had worked diligently in the effort to
discover the parents of the baby, but without result. Two or three
exasperated husbands in Tinkletown had threatened to blow his brains out
if he persisted in questioning their wives in his insinuating manner,
and one of the kitchen girls at the village inn threw a dishpan at him
on the occasion of his third visit of inquiry. A colored woman in the
employ of the Baptist minister denied that Rosalie was her child, but
when he insisted, agreed with fine sarcasm to "go over an' have a look
at it," after his assurance that it was perfectly white.
"Eva, I've investigated the case thoroughly," he said at last, "an'
there is no solution to the mystery. The only thing I c'n deduce is that
the child is here an' we'll have to take keer of her. Now, I wonder if
that woman really meant it when she said we'd have a thousand dollars
at the end of each year. Doggone, I wish the year was up, jest to see."
"We'll have to wait, Anderson, that's all," said Mrs. Crow. "I love the
baby so it can't matter much. I'm glad you're through investigatin'.
It's been most tryin' to me.
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