Even Tony Brink, the blacksmith's 'prentice,
fell into the habits of industry, but with an absent-mindedness that got
him kicked through a partition in the smithy when he attempted to shoe
the fetlock of Mr. Martin's colt instead of its hoof.
The Crow family took on a new dignity. Anderson gave fifty dollars to
the Foreign Missionary Society of the Presbyterian Church, claiming that
a foreign education had done so much for his ward; and Mrs. Crow
succeeded in holding two big afternoon teas before Rosalie could apply
the check rein.
One night Anderson sat up until nearly ten o'clock--an unheard-of
proceeding for him. Rosalie, with the elder Crow girls, Edna and Susie,
had gone to protracted meeting with a party of young men and women. The
younger boys and girls were in bed, and Mrs. Crow was yawning
prodigiously. She never retired until Anderson was ready to do likewise.
Suddenly it dawned upon her that he was unusually quiet and
preoccupied. They were sitting on the moonlit porch.
"What's the matter, Anderson? Ain't you well?" she asked at last.
"No; I'm just thinkin'," he responded, rather dismally. "Doggone, I
cain't get it out of my head, Eva."
"Can't get what out?"
"About Rosalie."
"Well, what about her?"
"That's jest like a woman--always fergittin' the most important things
in the world. Don't you know that the twenty years is up?"
"Of course I know it, but 'tain't worryin' me any.
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