“Good evenin’, Mistah Boden,” he called, eagerly.  The man stopped his horses.

“Hello!” he said.  “You’re in charge, are you?  Where’s the rest of the folks?”

“Mars’ Nat, he’s gone to town to-day,” answered John Jay, proudly.  “I’m keepin’ toll-gate this evenin’, Mistah Boden.”

“So!” exclaimed the man, with a cunning gleam in his little eyes.  “That’s the lay of the land, is it?”

Instead of taking out his pocket-book, he threw one foot over his knee, and began to ask questions in a friendly manner that flattered John Jay.

“Let’s see.  Your name’s Hickman, hain’t it?”

“Yessa, John Jay Hickman,” answered the boy.

“Yes,” drawled the man, gnawing at a plug of tobacco which he took from his pocket.  “I know all about you.  Your mammy used to cook for my wife, and your gran’mammy washed at our house one summer.  How is the old woman, anyhow?”

“She’s well, thank you, Mistah Boden,” was the pleased answer.

“And then there’s that brother of her’s—­Billy! old Uncle Billy!  How’s he getting on?”

“Oh, he’s mighty complainin’, Mistah Boden; he’s got such a misery in his back all the time that he say he jus’ aint got ambition ’nuff to get out’n his own way.”

“Is that so?” was the reply, in a tone of flattering interest.  The man beckoned him with his whip to step closer.

“Look here, boy,” he said, in a confidential tone, “it’s a mighty lucky thing for me that Nat Chadwick left you here instead of a stranger.  Every penny of change I started with this morning dropped out through a hole in my pocket somewhere.  I didn’t find it out until I got within sight of the place; then, thinks I to myself, ’oh, it won’t make any difference.  Nat and I are old friends; he’ll pass me.’  I guess you can do the same, can’t you, being as you’re in his place, and I’m an old friend of your family?  You needn’t say anything about it, and I’ll do as much for you some day.”

John Jay looked puzzled.  Before he could reply George walked out on the porch and stood beside him.  He bowed to the man politely.  “I’ll take the toll, if you please, Mr. Boden.  Put up the bar, John.”

The man hesitated a moment, then tossed him the change, and gave the horses a cut with his whip that sent them dashing down the road.

“If he wasn’t jus’ tryin’ to sneak his way through ’thout payin’!” exclaimed John Jay, indignantly.  George made no comment, but John Jay seemed unable to quit talking about the occurrence.  Half an hour later he broke out again:  “He thought ‘cause I was jus’ a little boy he could cheat me, an’ nobody would evah know the difference.  I nevah in all my life befo’ heard tell of anything so mean!”

“Haven’t you?” asked George, with such peculiar emphasis and such a queer little smile that John Jay felt guilty, although he could not have told why.

“No, I nevah did,” he insisted.