"Well, what's the trouble, girls?" she asked. "Running away from the new moon?"
"No, Auntie," Cleo replied, "but we thought we saw someone back of the tree—a man, and when he saw us he seemed to hide. Where's Michael?"
"I'll call him if you are timid, but we are going to have some gentlemen callers this evening. Maybe you are running away from one of them," she said with a light laugh. "But you girls set such store by Michael, I am afraid I shall have to have the garage moved up nearer the house. Never mind, our good watchman will be home soon. Uncle Guy will be in Chicago this week," she finished with an inflexion of pleasure anticipated.
Cleo was just deciding she must get her letter off to her Uncle Guy's hotel quickly, as she calculated wisely he would give more attention to a letter than he would be able to give to conversation for some days after his home-coming.
Leaving her guests for a few moments, Mrs. Dunbar touched the call button for Michael, and when he came up the path Cleo and Mary went to meet him. They told him the shadow story, of course, even offered to go down the walk and point out the tree, but he declined their assistance.
"Now, I'll tell you girls," he said, shaking his head as he always did when uttering an important fact, "we have a special watchman guarding this place and maybe it was him" (he might have said he, but grammar is not so important to a handy man as are good tools, and Michael always had these).
"Oh, a watchman!" exclaimed Cleo. "I'm so glad. Now, Mary dear, don't you go climbing any more trees," she warned with a pinch for Mary's elbow.
"No, you had better all behave," added Michael, "for our man is a regular hawk for night watching. I had to introduce him to Shep; knows his step clear down the road. Not that he makes a sound we can hear, but a dog, you know—a dog has ears in his paws, and they hear sounds for a long distance in the ground," he declared.
"I guess so," said Mary, simply, "for I have seen dogs listen to things so far off. But the watchman—would he shoot anyone who came around?" There was anxiety in her voice.
"Well, no," conceded Michael; "he wouldn't exactly shoot first shot; he might fire that over a prowler's head. Why?"