Public-domain ebook
Language: en11,022 downloads on Project Gutenberg
Subjects
In: Bestsellers, American, 1895-1923·Crime, Thrillers and Mystery·Humour
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #14818.
The Daughter of Anderson Crow is a slice‑of‑life novel set in a small New York State town, where the everyday concerns of its residents are rendered with the humor of a bustling community. The story opens on a porch where Rosalie, a spirited young woman, teases her guardian Anderson about a recent “party” that turned out to be an “experience meeting” involving the town’s colorful characters, delirious Alf Reesling, the slang‑spouting ‘Rast Little, and a cast of local gossipers. Their banter quickly reveals the central tension: Rosalie’s desire for a purpose beyond the domestic sphere, her wish to work, and Anderson’s paternal, often gruff, resistance. The dialogue, peppered with dialect and references to local politics, school appointments, and the arrival of a city‑born teacher, establishes a narrative that intertwines personal ambition with the rhythms of small‑town governance.
The novel’s voice is unmistakably early‑20th‑century Americana, blending colloquial speech with a leisurely, descriptive style that captures both the humor and the pathos of rural life. Its pacing is conversational, allowing characters to reveal their values through extended exchanges rather than rapid plot twists. Readers who enjoy detailed portrayals of community dynamics, the quirks of regional dialect, and a gentle exploration of gender roles and aspirations in a historical setting will find this work engaging. It appeals especially to those who appreciate character‑driven stories that linger on the texture of everyday conversation and the subtle politics of a tight‑knit town.
The opening · free to read
"How's that?" was Anderson's rebuke.
"I mean Mr. Crow," corrected Ed, with a nervous glance at Rosalie, who had been his companion for the evening.
"Oh, I'm jest so-so," remarked Anderson, mollified. "How was the party?"
"It wasn't a party, Daddy Crow," laughed Rosalie, seating herself in front of him on the porch rail. "It was an experience meeting. Alf Reesling has reformed again. He told us all about his last attack of delirium tremens."
"You don't say so! Well, sir, I never thought Alf could find the time to reform ag'in. He's too busy gittin' tight," mused Anderson. "But I guess reformin' c'n git to be as much a habit as anythin' else."
"I think he was a little woozy to-night," ventured 'Rast Little.
"A little what?"
"Drunk," explained 'Rast, without wasting words. 'Rast had acquired the synonym at the business men's carnival in Boggs City the preceding fall. Sometimes he substituted the words "pie-eyed," "skeed," "lit up," etc., just to show his worldliness.
After the young men had departed and the Crow girls had gone upstairs with their mother Rosalie slipped out on the porch and sat herself down upon the knee of her disconsolate guardian.
"You are worried about something, Daddy Crow," she said gently. "Now, speak up, sir. What is it?"
"It's time you were in bed," scolded Anderson, pulling his whiskers nervously.
"Oh, I'm young, daddy. I don't need sleep. But you never have been up as late as this since I've known you."
"I was up later'n this the time you had the whoopin'-cough, all right."
"What's troubling you, daddy?"
"Oh, nothin'--nothin' at all. Doggone, cain't a man set out on his own porch 'thout--"
"Forgive me, daddy. Shall I go away and leave you?"
"Gosh a'mighty, no!" he gasped. "That's what's worryin' me--oh, you didn't mean forever. You jest meant to-night? Geminy crickets, you did give me a skeer!" He sank back with a great sigh of relief.
"Why, I never expect to leave you forever," she cried, caressing his scanty hair. "You couldn't drive me away. This is home, and you've been too good to me all these years. I may want to travel after a while, but I'll always come back to you, Daddy Crow."
"I'm--I'm mighty glad to hear ye say that, Rosie. Ye see--ye see, me an' your ma kinder learned to love you, an'--an--"
"Why, Daddy Crow, you silly old goose! You're almost crying!"
"What's that? Now, don't talk like that to me, you little whipper-snapper, er you go to bed in a hurry. I never cried in my life," growled Anderson in a great bluster.
"Well, then, let's talk about something else--me, for instance. Do you know, Daddy Crow, that I'm too strong to live an idle life. There is no reason why I shouldn't have an occupation. I want to work--accomplish something."
Anderson was silent a long time collecting his nerves. "You wouldn't keer to be a female detective, would you?" he asked drily.
"But I insist that the money is yours, daddy. My fairy godmother paid it to you for keeping, clothing, and educating me. It is not mine."
"You talk like I was a boardin' school instead o' bein' your guardeen. No, siree; it's your money, an' that ends it. You git it when you're twenty-one."
"We'll see, daddy," she replied, a stubborn light in her dark eyes. "But I want to learn to do something worth while. If I had a million it would be just the same."
"You'll have something to do when you git married," observed he sharply.
"Nonsense!"
"I s'pose you're goin' to say you never expect to git married. They all say it--an' then take the first feller 'at comes along."
"I didn't take the first, or the second, or the third, or the--"
"Hold on! Gosh a'mighty, have you had that many? Well, why don't you go into the matrimonial agent's business? That's an occupation."
"Oh, none of them was serious, daddy," she said naïvely.
"You could have all of the men in the county!" he declared proudly. "Only," he added quickly, "it wouldn't seem jest right an' proper."
"There was a girl at Miss Brown's a year ago who had loads of money, and yet she declared she was going to have an occupation. Nobody knew much about her or why she left school suddenly in the middle of a term. I liked her, for she was very nice to me when I first went there, a stranger. Mr. Reddon--you've heard me speak of him--was devoted to her, and I'm sure she liked him. It was only yesterday I heard from her. She is going to teach school in this township next winter."
"An' she's got money?"
"I am sure she had it in those days. It's the strangest thing in the world that she should be coming here to teach school in No. 5. Congressman Ritchey secured the appointment for her, she says. The township trustee--whatever his name is--for a long time insisted that he must appoint a teacher from Tinkletown and not an outsider. I am glad she is coming here because--well, daddy, because she is like the girls I knew in the city. She has asked me to look up a boarding place for next winter. Do you know of any one, daddy, who could let her have a nice room?"
"I'll bet my ears you'd like to have your ma take her in right here. But I don't see how it c'n be done, Rosie-posie. There's so derned many of us now, an'--"
"Oh, I didn't mean that, daddy. She couldn't come here. But don't you think Mrs. Jim Holabird would take her in for the winter?"
"P'raps. She's a widder. She might let her have Jim's room now that there's a vacancy. You might go over an' ast her about it to-morrer. It's a good thing she's a friend of yourn, Rosalie, because if she wasn't I'd have to fight her app'intment."
"Why, daddy!" reproachfully.
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