One of the corners contained a battered suitcase and a nondescript pile of old clothes, the other was piled high with yellowing copies of what she saw was the Winnipeg Free Press and a few old magazines.
"The library!" she said bitterly, and was surprised to find that she had spoken aloud. Insane people did that, she had heard. Was she——?
She ran over to a shelf that had escaped her notice, and the ill-fitting lamp chimney rattled as she moved. It was stacked high with the same empty syrup cans that at Gertie's did the duty of flower-pots. But these held flour, now quite mouldy, and various other staple supplies all spoiled and useless. She started to say "the larder," but, remembering in time, put her hand over her lips that she might only think it.
And now she had come to that other door. She must see what was there.
"Having a look at the shack?"
She gave a stifled scream and for a moment turned so pale that he hastily set down his pail and went over to her.
"I guess you're all tuckered out," he said kindly. "No wonder. You've had quite a little excitement the last day or two."
With a tremendous effort, Nora recovered her self-control. She walked steadily over to one of the packing-box stools and sat down.
"It was silly of me, but you don't know how you startled me. Don't think I usually have nerves, but—but the place was strange last night and I didn't sleep very well."
"Do you mind if I open the door a moment?" she asked after a short pause. "It isn't really cold and it looks so beautiful outside. One can't see anything out of the window, you know, it's so cobwebby. I must clean it—to-morrow."