But the merriest rivalry was that which developed between Ed Higgins, the Beau Brummel of Tinkletown, and ’Rast Little, whose father owned the biggest farm in Bramble County.  If she was amused by the frantic efforts of each suitor to outwit the other she was too tactful to display her emotion.  Perhaps she was more highly entertained by the manner in which Tinkletown femininity paired its venom with masculine admiration.

“Mornin’, Miss Banks,” was Anderson’s greeting as he stamped noisily into the room.  He forgot that he had said good-morning to her when she stopped in to see Rosalie on her way to the schoolhouse.  The children ceased their outdoor game and peered eagerly through the windows, conscious that the visit of this dignitary was of supreme importance.  Miss Banks looked up from the papers she was correcting, the pucker vanishing from her pretty brow as if by magic.

“Good-morning, Mr. Crow.  What are you doing away out here in the country?  Jimmy”—­to a small boy—­“please close the door.”  Anderson had left it open, and it was a raw January wind which followed him into the room.

“’Scuse me,” he murmured.  “Seems I ain’t got sense enough to shet a door even.  My wife says—­but you don’t keer to hear about that, do you?  Oh, I jest dropped in,” finally answering her question.  He took a bench near the big stove and spread his hands before the sheet-iron warmth.  “Lookin’ up a little affair, that’s all.  Powerful chilly, ain’t it?”

“Very.”  She stood on the opposite side of the stove, puzzled by this unexpected visit, looking at him with undisguised curiosity.

“Ever been to Chicago?” asked Anderson suddenly, hoping to catch her unawares.

“Oh, yes.  I have lived there,” she answered readily.  He shifted his legs twice and took a hasty pull at his whiskers.

“That’s what I thought.  Why don’t you go back there?”

“Because I’m teaching school here, Mr. Crow.”

“Well, I reckon that’s a good excuse.  I thought mebby you had a different one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I dunno.  I jest asked.”

“You are a detective, are you not?” asked Miss Banks, smiling brightly and with understanding.

“Oh, off an’ on I do a little detectin’.  See my badge?”

“Am I suspected of a heinous crime?” she asked so abruptly that he gasped.  “Won’t you take off your cap, Mr. Crow?” He removed it sheepishly.

“Lord, no!” he exclaimed in confusion.  “I mean the crime—­not the cap.  Well, I guess I’ll be goin’.  School’s goin’ to take up, I reckon.  See you later, Miss Banks.”  He restored his cap to its accustomed place and was starting toward the door, a trifle dazed and bewildered.

“What is it that you wish to find out, Mr. Crow?” she suddenly called to him.  He halted and faced about so quickly that his reply came like a shot out of a gun.