On a certain day the old marshal took Rosalie to Boggs City, and the guardianship proceedings were legally closed.

Listlessly she accepted half of the money he had saved, having refused to take all of it.

She was now her own mistress, much to her regret if not to his.
"I may go on living with you, Daddy Crow, may I not ?" she asked wistfully as they drove home through the March blizzard.

"This doesn't mean that I cannot be your own little girl after to-day, does it ?" "Don't talk like that, Rosalie Gray, er I'll put you to bed 'thout a speck o' supper," growled he in his most threatening tones, but the tears were rolling down his cheeks at the time.
"Do you know, daddy, I honestly hope that the big city detective won't find out who I am," she said after a long period of reflection.
"Cause why ?" "Because, if he doesn't, you won't have any excuse for turning me out." "I'll not only send you to bed, but I'll give you a tarnation good lickin' besides if you talk like--" "But I'm twenty-one.

You have no right," said she so brightly that he cracked his whip over the horse's back and blew his nose twice for full measure of gratitude.
"Well, I ain't heerd anything from that fly detective lately, an' I'm beginnin' to think he ain't sech a long sight better'n I am," said he proudly.
"He isn't half as good!" she cried.
"I mean as a detective," he supplemented apologetically.
"So do I," she agreed earnestly; but it was lost on him.
There was a letter at home for her from Edith Bonner.