"Where's papa?" Marjory tremulously inquired of the footman in the hallway.
"He's waitin' for you in the library, miss—I should say Mrs. Barnes," replied the man, a trace of excitement in his face.
"Mrs. Barnes!" exclaimed four voices at once.
"Who told you, William?" cried Marjory, leaning upon Jack for support.
"A Mr. Anderson Crow was here not half an hour ago, ma'am, to assure Mr. Brewster as to how his new son-in-law was in nowise connected with the murder up the way. He said as how he had personally investigated the case, miss—ma'am, and Mr. Brewster could rely on his word for it, Mr. Jack was not the man. He told him as how you was married at the boathouse."
"Yes—and then?" cried Marjory eagerly.
"Mr. Brewster said that Mr. Jack wasn't born to be hanged, and for me to have an extry plate laid at the table for him to-night," concluded William with an expressive grin.
CHAPTER V
The Babe on the Doorstep
It was midnight in Tinkletown, many months after the events mentioned in the foregoing chapters, and a blizzard was raging. The February wind rasped through the bare trees, shrieked around the corners of lightless houses and whipped its way through the scurrying snow with all the rage of a lion. The snow, on account of the bitter cold in the air, did not fly in big flakes, but whizzed like tiny bullets, cutting the flesh of men and beasts like the sting of wasps. It was a good night to be indoors over a roaring fire or in bed between extra blankets. No one, unless commanded by emergency, had the temerity to be abroad that night.
The Crow family snoozed comfortably in spite of the calliope shrieks of the wind. The home of the town marshal was blanketed in peace and the wind had no terrors for its occupants. They slept the sleep of the toasted. The windows may have rattled a bit, perhaps, and the shutters may have banged a trifle too remorselessly, but the Crows were not to be disturbed.
The big, old-fashioned clock in the hall downstairs was striking twelve when Anderson Crow awoke with a start. He was amazed, for to awake in the middle of the night was an unheard-of proceeding for him. He caught the clang of the last five strokes from the clock, however, and was comforting himself with the belief that it was five o'clock, after all, when his wife stirred nervously.
"Are you awake, Anderson?" she asked softly.
"Yes, Eva, and it's about time to get up. It jest struck five. Doggone, it's been blowin' cats and dogs outside, ain't it?" he yawned.
"Five? It's twelve-now, don't tell me you counted the strokes, because I did myself. Ain't it queer we should both git awake at this unearthly hour?"
"Well," murmured he sleepily now that it was not five o'clock, "it's a mighty good hour to go back to sleep ag'in, I reckon."
"I thought I heard a noise outside," she persisted.
"I don't blame you," he said, chuckling. "It's been out there all night."
"I mean something besides the wind. Sounded like some one walkin' on the front porch."
"Now, look here, Eva, you ain't goin' to git me out there in this blizzard—in my stockin' feet—lookin' fer robbers—"
"Just the same, Anderson, I'm sure I heard some one. Mebby it's some poor creature freezin' an' in distress. If I was you, I'd go and look out there. Please do."
"Doggone, Eva, if you was me you'd be asleep instid of huntin' up trouble on a night like this. They ain't nothin' down there an' you—but, by cracky! mebby you're right. Supposin' there is some poor cuss out there huntin' a place to sleep. I'll go and look;" and Mr. Crow, the most tender-hearted man in the world, crawled shiveringly but quickly from the warm bed. In his stocking feet—Anderson slept in his socks on those bitter nights—he made his way down the front stairs, grumbling but determined. Mrs. Crow followed close behind, anxious to verify the claim that routed him from his nest.
"It may be a robber," she chattered, as he pulled aside a front window curtain. Anderson drew back hastily.
"Well, why in thunder didn't you say so before?" he gasped. "Doggone, Eva, that's no way to do! He might 'a' fired through the winder at me."
"But he's in the house by this time, if it was a robber," she whispered. "He wouldn't stand out on the porch all night."
"That's right," he whispered in reply. "You're a good deducer, after all. I wish I had my dark lantern. Thunderation!" He stubbed his toe against the sewing machine. There is nothing that hurts more than unintentional contact with a sewing machine. "Why in sixty don't you light a light, Eva? How can I—"
"Listen!" she whispered shrilly. "Hear that? Anderson, there's some one walkin' on the porch!"
"'y gosh!" faltered he. "Sure as Christmas! You wait here, Eva, till I go upstairs an' put on my badge and I'll—"
"I'll do nothing of the kind. You don't ketch me stayin' down here alone," and she grabbed the back of his nightshirt as he started for the stairs.
"Sho! What air you afeerd of? I'll get my revolver, too. I never did see such a coward'y calf as—"
Just then there was a tremendous pounding on the front door, followed by the creaking of footsteps on the frozen porch, a clatter down the steps, and then the same old howling of the wind. The Crows jumped almost out of their scanty garments, and then settled down as if frozen to the spot. It was a full minute before Anderson found his voice—in advance of Mrs. Crow at that, which was more than marvellous.
"What was that?" he chattered.
"A knock!" she gasped.
"Some neighbour's sick."
"Old Mrs. Luce. Oh, goodness, how my heart's going!"
"Why don't you open the door, Eva?"
"Why don't you? It's your place."
"But, doggone it, cain't you see—I mean feel—that I ain't got hardly any clothes on? I'd ketch my death o' cold, an' besides—"
"Well, I ain't got as much on as you have. You got socks on an'—"
"But supposin' it's a woman," protested he. "You wouldn't want a woman to see me lookin' like this, would you? Go ahead an'—"
"I suppose you'd like to have a man see me like this. I ain't used to receivin' men in—but, say, whoever it was, is gone. Didn't you hear the steps? Open the door, Anderson. See what it is."
And so, after much urging, Anderson Crow unbolted his front door and turned the knob. The wind did the rest. It almost blew the door off its hinges, carrying Mr. and Mrs. Crow back against the wall. A gale of snow swept over them.
"Gee!" gasped Anderson, crimping his toes. Mrs. Crow was peering under his arm.
"Look there!" she cried. Close to the door a large bundle was lying.
"A present from some one!" speculated Mr. Crow; but some seconds passed before he stooped to pick it up. "Funny time fer Santy to be callin' 'round. Wonder if he thinks it's next Christmas."
"Be careful, Anderson; mebby it's an infernal machine!" cried