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?" "Oh, it's all right just now when the strike is on. But was you wantin' to come in, Uncle Pete, or just passing' by?" "I wanted to see Adam if I could." The man swung open the gate. "Help yourself, Uncle Pete, just so you don't stick a knife into him or blow him up with a bomb or poison him or something." He pointed toward that part of the grounds where Helen had watched her father from the arbor. "You'll find him over there somewhere, I think. I saw him headed that way a few minutes ago. The rest of the family are gone to church." "Is Adam's life really threatened, Henry?" asked Pete, as he stepped inside and the gates were closed behind him. "Search me," returned the guard, indifferently. "I expect if the truth were known it ought to be by rights. He sure enough thinks it is, though. Why, Uncle Pete, there can't a butterfly flit over these grounds that Adam ain't a yellin' how there's an aeroplane a sailin' around lookin' fer a chance to drop a monkey wrench on his head or something." "Poor Adam!" murmured the old workman. "What a way to live!" "Live?" echoed the guard. "It ain't livin' at all--it's just bein' in hell before your time, that's what it is--if you ask me." * * * * * When Peter Martin, making his slow way through the beautiful grounds, first caught sight of his old bench mate, Adam was pacing slowly to and fro across a sunny open space of lawn. As he walked, the Mill owner was talking to himself and moving his arms and hands in those continuous gestures that seemed so necessary to any expression of his thoughts. Once Pete heard him laugh. And something in the mirthless sound made the old workman pause. It was then that Adam saw him. There was no mistaking the sudden fear that for a moment seemed to paralyze the man. His gray face turned a sickly white, his eyes were staring, his jaw dropped, his body shook as if with a chill. He looked about as if he would call for help, and started as if to seek safety in flight. "Good-morning, Adam Ward," said Pete Martin. And at the gentle kindliness in the workman's voice Adam's manner, with a suddenness that was startling, changed. With an elaborate show of friendliness he came eagerly forward. His gray face, twitching with nervous excitement, beamed with joyous welcome. As he hurried across the bit of lawn between them, he waved his arms and rubbed his hands together in an apparent ecstasy of gladness at this opportunity to receive such an honored guest. His voice trembled with high-pitched assurance of his happiness in the occasion. He laughed as one who could not contain himself.