This Sunday morning Adam Ward was at home.
When Pete reached the entrance to the estate the heavy gates were closed. As Mary's father stood in doubt before the iron barrier a man appeared on the inside.
"Good-morning, Uncle Pete," he said, in hearty greeting, when he saw who it was that sought admittance.
"Good-morning, Henry—and what are you doing in there?" returned the workman, who had known the man from his boyhood.
The other grinned. "Oh, I'm one of the guards at this institution now."
Pete looked at him blankly. "Guards? What are you guarding, Henry?"
Standing close to the iron bars of the gate, Henry glanced over his shoulder before he answered in a low, cautious tone, "Adam."
The old workman was shocked. "What! you don't mean it!" He shook his grizzly head sadly. "I hadn't heard that he was that bad."
Henry laughed. "We're not keepin' the old boy in, Uncle Pete—not yet. So far, our orders are only to keep people out. Dangerous people, I mean—the kind that might want to run away with the castle, or steal a look at the fountain, or sneak a smell of the flowers or something—y' understand."
Pete smiled. "How do you like your job, Henry?"