ail, saw that my lady's plumes nodded, and he
gently touched Uncle Ben and pointed down. Suddenly there came a tap of
the tithing stick on his head, and he was in disgrace. He looked very
solemn now; so did Uncle Ben. It was a solemn time after one had been
touched by the tithing rod.

But the tithingman had seen Lady Wiggleworth's nodding plumes. Could it
be possible that this woman, who was received at the Province House, had
lost her moral and physical control?

If such a thing had happened, he must yet do his duty. He would have
done that had the queen been there. The law of Heaven makes no
exception, nor did he.

He tiptoed down the stair and stood before the old lady's pew. All her
plumes were nodding, something like the picture of a far ship in a
rolling sea. My lady was asleep.

The tithingman's heart beat high, but his resolution did not falter. If
it had, it would soon have been restored, for my lady began to snore.

Gently, very gently, the tithingman took from his side pocket a
feather. He touched with it gently, very gently, a sensitive part of the
oblivious old lady's nose. She partly awoke and brushed her nose with
her hand. But her head turned to the other side of her shoulders, and
she relapsed into slumber again.

The sermon was still beating the sounding-board, and a more vigorous
duty devolved upon the tithingman.

He pushed the feather up my lady's nose, where the membrane was more
sensitive and more quickly communicated with the brain. He did this
vigorously and more vigorously. It was an obstinate case.

"Scat!"

The tithingman jumped. My lady opened her eyes. The sermon was still
beating the sounding-board, but she was not then aware that she, too,
had spoken in meeting.

There were some queer church customs in the days of Boston town.

CHAPTER XI.

JENNY.

JENNY FRANKLIN, the "pet and beauty of the family," Benjamin's favorite
sister, was born in 1712, and was six years younger than he.

"My little Jenny," said Josiah, "has the Franklin heart." Little Ben
found that heart in her baby days, and it was true to him to the end.

Uncle Benjamin had entertained such large hopes of the future of little
Ben since the boy first sent to him a piece of poetry to England, that
he wrote of him:

"For if the bud bear grain, what will the top?"

and again:

"When flowers are beautiful before they're blown,
What rarities will afterward be shown!