so
frightened that he could only cling to her skirts, sobbing piteously.
When, at last, he found his breath, all he could gasp was, "Oh, Mammy!
the gandahs are aftah me! the gandahs are aftah me!"

Big boy as he was, Mammy stooped and lifted him in her arms, and holding
him close, with his head on her shoulder, rocked back and forth in the
big wooden chair until he grew calmer. Not until he had sobbed out the
whole story, and wiped his eyes several times on her apron, did he see
that there was company in the room.

George Chadwick was sitting by the door. It was the first time he had
been in the cabin since his return from college. He had ridden up from
the toll-gate on a passing wagon to see his old friend, Sheba, and had
been there the greater part of the afternoon, listening to her tales of
his mother in the old slavery days. He had not intended to accept her
urgent invitation to stay to supper, but when he saw that she shared
John Jay's fright, he decided to remain. Had it not been for his
protecting presence in the house, Mammy was so affected by the boy's
story that she would have barred every opening. Then, cowering around
one little flickering candle, they would have fed each other's
superstitious fears until bedtime. George knew this, and so he stayed to
reassure them by his matter-of-fact explanations, and his cheerful
common sense. While he could not convince them that they had been
needlessly alarmed, he drew their attention to other things, by stories
of college life and experiences at the North, while Sheba bustled about,
bringing out the best of her meagre store to do him honor.

Ivy, scrubbed until she shone, and in a stiffly starched apron, sat on
his knee and sucked her thumb. Bud squatted at his feet in silence,
sticking his little red tongue in and out of the hole where the lost
tooth had been. As for John Jay, his hero-worship passed that night into
warmest love. From that time on, he would have gone through fire and
water to serve his "Rev'und Gawge,"--anywhere in fact, save one place.
Never any more was there motive deep enough or power strong enough to
drag him within calling distance of the gander thicket.

CHAPTER VII.

Now that berry picking was at an end, John Jay slipped back into his old
lazy ways. Errands were run with lagging feet; work was done in the
easiest way possible, and everything was left undone that he could by
any means avoid. Mammy scolded when she came home at ni