I'm savin' up to get you all somethin' mighty nice
for Chrismus." He jingled his pockets suggestively; but Mammy was too
busy skimming the pepper out of the stew to make any reply.
* * * * *
One warm, mellow afternoon when the golden-rod was at its sunniest, and
the iron-weed flaunted its royal purple across the fields in the trail
of the Indian summer, John Jay went down to the toll-gate cottage. He
found his Reverend George sitting on the porch in his overcoat, with a
shawl thrown over his knees. A book lay in his lap, but his hands were
folded on the open pages, and he was looking far away across the brown
fields of tattered corn-stalks. He was much better than he had been for
several weeks, and welcomed John Jay so gaily, that the child felt that
a weight had somehow been lifted from him. Mammy and Uncle Billy had
been whispering together many times of late, and the little listener
shared their fears. He had made so many visits to the toll-gate since
the day he was left in charge, that he felt almost as much at home there
as Mars' Nat himself.
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