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.  Once George did all the talking while John Jay listened with his head bashfully tipped to one side; now they seemed to have changed places.  It was George who listened.

John Jay had been kept at home for several days, and had much to tell.  For an hour or more he entertained George with accounts of his rabbit snares, his nutting expeditions, and his persimmon hunts.  He told about the dye Mammy had made from the sumach berries which he had carried home, and how Ivy had dropped her pet duck into it.  He imitated Bud’s antics when he upset the kettle of soft soap, and he had much to say about the young owl which they had caught, and caged under a wash-tub.

He did not notice that he was doing all the talking this afternoon, but filled the pauses that sometimes fell between them by idly playing jack-stones with a handful of acorns.  George was thinking as they sat there that this might be the last time that they two would ever sit in this way together, and he was searching for some words with which to prepare the child for a sudden leave-taking in case it should be soon.

At last he cleared his throat.  John Jay looked up expectantly, but just then Mars’ Nat walked around the house.

“Here comes Doctor Leonard,” he said, nodding towards a rapidly approaching horseman.  “Howdy, Doc,” he called, as the man drew rein, and felt in his pocket for some change to pay his toll.  “What’s your hurry?”

“I’ve a call over to Elk Ridge,” he answered, handing him the money and quickly starting on.  Then he pulled his horse up with a sudden jerk.  “Here, Chadwick,” he called, pitching the heavy overcoat he carried on his arm in the direction of the porch, “I wish you’d keep this for me until I get back.  I’ll be along this way before dark, and it’s so much warmer than I thought it would be that such a heavy coat is a nuisance.”

“All right,” responded the toll-keeper.  “Here!  John Jay,” he ordered, as the doctor disappeared around the bend in the road, “pick up the gentleman’s coat and hang it on a chair inside the door there.”  Then he stuck his hands in his pockets, and whistling to his dog, walked off across the fields.