"It's paid for, Mister. Slam the door, will ye?" And in another moment Peter was left alone.
It was now after sunset, and the depths of the wood were bathed in shadow. Peter took the road indicated and in a moment reached two stone pillars where a man was standing. Beyond the man he had a glimpse of lawns, a well-kept driveway which curved toward the wood. The man at the gate was of about Peter's age but tall and angular, well tanned by exposure and gave an appearance of intelligence and capacity.
"I came to see Mr. McGuire," said Peter amiably.
"And what's your name?"
"Nichols. I'm the new forester from New York."
The young man at the gate smiled in a satirical way.
"Nichols. That was the name," he ruminated. And then with a shout to some one in the woods below, "Hey, Andy. Come take the gate."
All the while Peter felt the gaze of the young man going over him minutely and found himself wondering whether or not this was the person who was going to take him at a gobble.
It was. For when the other man came running Peter heard him call the gateman, "Shad."
"Are you Mr. Shad Wells?" asked Peter politely with the pleasant air of one who has made an agreeable discovery.