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."