Early one morning George sent a message to Sheba, asking that John Jay
might be allowed to spend the day with him and help watch the toll-gate,
while Mars' Nat was in town. That morning still stands out in the boy's
memory, as one of the happiest he ever spent.
Along in the middle of the afternoon, when travel on the turnpike had
almost ceased on account of the heat, George went into his room and lay
down. John Jay sat on the floor of the porch, holding the old hound's
head in his lap, and lazily smoothing its long soft ears. He felt very
important when a wagon rattled up and the toll was dropped into his
fingers. He wished that everybody he knew would ride by and find him
sitting there in charge; but no one else came for more than an hour. It
had seemed as long as ten hours, with nothing to do but slap at the
flies and talk to the sleepy hound. John Jay grinned when he saw the
arrival, for it was a man whom he knew.
"Good evenin', Mistah Boden," he called, eagerly. The man stopped his
horses.
"Hello!" he said.
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