or, imperious even in
her unspoken needs, Amelia would have to be delicately fed. Charlotte,
hearing the bells, glanced absently at the window and Raven's eyes
followed. He felt his heart give a little added start, of relief, he
knew. At least Tenney wouldn't stop the horse and brain his wife on the
road.

"There's the Tenneys," said Charlotte. "That's a queer kind of a woman,
that wife he's got."

"Why is she?" Raven demanded.

Whatever Charlotte felt, he must pluck it out of her. It was sure to be
true.

She spoke thoughtfully, as if reviewing what was not altogether clear in
her own mind.

"I dunno's I know. But she's so kind o' quiet. Pleasant enough, but you
al'ays feel as if she's a mile off."

Yes, Raven owned to himself, Charlotte was right. That was the way he
felt, only it was not one mile but many miles off.

"That baby, too," said Charlotte, her brows knitted, as if the whole
thing troubled her. "The baby ain't right."

Just what Nan said. What witchery women had!

"What's the matter with the baby?" he asked, and was nettled at the
roughness of his voice.

Charlotte shook her head and seemed to shake off perplexed imaginings.

"I dunno," she said again. "But suthin' is. An' that's the queer part
on't. You never'd know whether Mis' Tenney knows it or whether she
don't. But there!" Then her mind settled to its task. "No, you couldn't
git sweet-breads this time o' year, up here anyways. They don't kill."

Raven, after the consultation was over and Charlotte had explained the
ease with which she could pack a hamper of hot dishes to carry over to
Nan, "come one o'clock," went to his social task in the library where
Amelia sat at the drowsy rite of warming her toes. He had a more or less
relaxed feeling with Amelia now; she had shot her bolt and sprung her
mine and could hardly have more in hiding. But she had, the completest
shock possible. She sat with her eyes fixed on the doorway, waiting, and
her question was ready:

"John, what do you know about Uncle John? Great-uncle, of course I
mean."

Raven advanced into the room and chose a seat by the window. Amelia,
still thinly clad above and ineffectually baking herself, made him
irrationally want to get away from fires.

"Old Crow?" he asked.

"Why, yes, if you want to call him that. I suppose that's what the
country people did call him."

"Why," said Raven slowly, getting his recollections in order, prepared
to give her what was good for h