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.