CHAPTER V
THE MYSTERY OF THE MUSKEG
Colston and his party had been gone a fortnight when Prescott called at the Jernyngham homestead one afternoon and found its owner sitting moodily in the kitchen, which presented a chaotic appearance. Unwashed plates and dishes were scattered about, the wood-box was overturned and poplar billets strewed the floor, there was no fire in the rusty stove, and the fragments of a heavy crock lay against the wall. The strong sunlight that streamed in emphasized the disorder of the room.
“I was passing and thought I’d come in,” Prescott explained. “Where’s Mrs. Jernyngham? The look of the place gives one the idea that she’s not at home.”
“It’s never remarkably tidy.” Jernyngham broke into a rueful smile. “I believe she started for the settlement when I was at work in the summer fallow this morning. The fact that the horse and buggy are missing points to it.”
“But don’t you know whether she has gone or not?”
“I don’t,” said Jernyngham. “She didn’t acquaint me with her intentions. As I see she has taken some things along, it looks as if she meant to visit Mrs. Harvey at the store. They’re friends now and then.”
His manner was suggestive, though he looked more resigned than disturbed, and Prescott, glancing at the shattered crock, ventured a question which he feared was not quite judicious: