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McCutcheon, George Barr, 1866-1928

"The Daughter of Anderson Crow"

But, listen, I'm afraid somethin's goin' to happen
to-night. There's a lot o' strangers here, an' I'm nervous about
Rosalie. Somebody might try to steal her in the excitement. Now I want
you to take good keer of her. Don't let 'er out o' your sight, an' don't
let anybody git 'er away from you. I'll keep my eye on her, too. Promise
me."
"Certainly, Mr. Crow. I'll look out for her. That's what I hope to do
all the rest of--'
"Somethin's liable to happen," Mr. Crow broke in, and then quietly
slipped away.
Bonner laughed easily at the old man's fears and set them down as a part
of his whimsical nature. Later, he saw the old man near the entrance as
the party passed inside the inclosure. The Bonner party occupied
prominent seats in front, reserved by the marshal. There were ten in the
group, a half-dozen young Boston people completing the house party.
The side walls of a pavilion inclosed the most beautiful section of the
grove. In one end were the seats, rapidly filling with people. At the
opposite end, upon Mother Earth's green carpet, was the stage, lighted
dimly by means of subdued spot lights and a few auxiliary stars on high.
There was no scenery save that provided by Nature herself. An orchestra
of violins broke through the constant hum of eager voices.
Anderson Crow's heart was inside the charmed inclosure, but his person
was elsewhere.


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