I'm fer home industry every time, an'
'specially as this girl don't appear to need the place. I don't see what
business Congressman Ritchey has foolin' with our school system anyhow.
He'd better be reducin' the tariff er increasin' the pensions down to
Washington."
"I quite agree with you, Daddy Crow," said Rosalie with a diplomacy that
always won for her. She knew precisely how to handle her guardian, and
that was why she won where his own daughters failed. "And now,
good-night, daddy. Go to bed and don't worry about me. You'll have me
on your hands much longer than you think or want. What time is it?"
Anderson patted her head reflectively as he solemnly drew his huge
silver time-piece from an unlocated pocket. He held it out into the
bright moonlight.
"Geminy crickets!" he exclaimed. "It's forty-nine minutes to twelve!"
Anderson Crow's policy was to always look at things through the small
end of the telescope.
The slow, hot summer wore away, and to Rosalie it was the longest that
she ever had experienced. She was tired of the ceaseless twaddle of
Tinkletown, its flow of "missions," "sociables," "buggy-horses," "George
Rawlin's new dress-suit," "harvesting," and "politics"--for even the
children talked politics. Nor did the assiduous attentions of the
village young men possess the power to shorten the days for her--and
they certainly lengthened the nights.
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