In these new days he was considerate--and patronising.

Was he not one of the wealthiest men in town--with his six thousand dollars laid by?
Was he not its most honoured citizen, not excepting the mayor and selectmen?
Was he not, above all, a close friend of the Bonners?
The Bonners were to spend August in the Congressman's home across the big river.

This fact alone was enough to stir the Crow establishment to its most infinitesimal roots.

Rosalie was to be one of the guests at the house party, but her foster-sisters were not the kind to be envious.
They revelled with her in the preparations for that new season of delight.
With the coming of the Bonners, Anderson once more revived his resolution to unravel the mystery attending Rosalie's birth.

For some months this ambition had lain dormant, but now, with the approach of the man she loved, the old marshal's devotion took fire and he swore daily that the mystery should be cleared "whether it wanted to be or not." He put poor old Alf Reesling through the "sweat box" time and again, and worthless Tom Folly had many an unhappy night, wondering why the marshal was shadowing him so persistently.
"Alf," demanded Anderson during one of the sessions, "where were you on the night of February 18, 1883?
Don't hesitate.