that always
made her uneasy, she was so unlikely, at such times, to guess what he
was thinking about. In another instant he was to inform her. It all came
over him, in a wave. He gasped under the force of it and then he roared
with laughter. "By George, Milly," he cried, "I've got you. As the
Scotch say (or are said to say) I hae it noo. Old Crow was dotty and my
nose is like Old Crow's. So I'm dotty, too."

"I think," said Amelia, with dignity, "any specialist, if you could only
be persuaded to put your case into his hands, would inquire very closely
into family traits. And you and I, John, ought to help him by tabulating
everything we can."

"Sure!" said Raven, relapsing into a vulgarism likely to set her teeth
on edge and possibly, in the spasm of it, close them momentarily on
reminiscence. "I'm willing to let you in for all I know about Old Crow.
To tell the truth, I'm rather proud of him myself."

Charlotte was passing through the hall and Amelia called to her.

"Charlotte, a minute, please. You know our uncle, Mr. John Raven."

"Old Crow, Charlotte," Raven reminded her, seeing she needed prompting,
not yet guessing where the question was to lead. Curiously, he thought,
it was Milly's exasperating fate to put everybody on guard. But it was
inevitable. When you had a meddler in the family, you never knew where
you'd have to head her off.

"What," continued Amelia, "has become of Uncle John's books?"

"His books?" interrupted Raven, himself off the track now, "what the
deuce do you want with Old Crow's books?"

"Where are they?" Amelia continued, now turning to him. "There's
something somewhere--a book--I know it perfectly well--and we've got to
have it. It came to me in the night."

"What was it?" asked Raven. "Old Crow was rather a bookish chap, I
fancy, in a conventional way. I've got some of his stuff up in the hut:
rather academic, the kind daguerreotyped young men with high stocks used
to study by one candle. What do you suspect--a will, or a love-letter
slipped in behind a cover and forgotten? It can't be a will. Old Crow
didn't have anything to leave."

Amelia's hands trembled a little. A brighter rose had encircled the
permanent red of her cheeks. She was, Raven saw with curiosity, much
excited.

"There was certainly a book," she said, "a mottled blank book a third
full of writing. It was a sort of journal. I was in the room when mother
brought it from the hut and passed it to father to look at