"Oh, she was his great-aunt. I've got her traced all clear enough. Her mother was a Jimson. They lived in the old Jimson homestead in Worcester. Her father was Zachariah Jimson, and he was my ancestor; he was the third cousin of the Earl of Dingleberry. I got into the 'Grand Dames of the Pequot War,' and the 'United Order of American Descendants of Third Cousins of Earls'—both of them, through Zachariah. But that doesn't explain how Molly Bixby, whose mother came over in the Sarah Jane from Bristol, and who settled at Cohasset in 1690, turned up in Philadelphia in 1775 married to an officer in the English army. Then I am nearly distracted about Jabez Whicher. He was an intimate friend of Sir Harry Vane, and I don't see how I can ever get into the 'Descendants of Persons Who Were Acquainted With People Worth While' unless I can find out something about him."
"Are you sure there was such a man?"
"Of course I am. My mother was a Whicher. I have been all through the town history of Tinkleham, where he came from. We have two samplers at home, worked by his great-granddaughter. And I have hunted in the genealogies of the Diddleback family—he married a Diddleback, my grandfather always said, and in the genealogies of the Fritterleys and the Nynkums, because they were the most prominent families of Tinkleham."
"What have you got there?"
"This? Oh, this is the town and court records of Footleboro'—it is only three miles from Tinkleham, you know, and I thought I might find out something about him. Let me see, let me see—gracious, what fine print! There, here are the Whichers, lots of them. Andrew, Benjamin, Charles—why, here he is! Victory at last! 'Whicher, Jabez.' That's the man! Now, page 719. Here we are! What's this—'Site of the Old Pump'? Why, what's the matter with this index? It says page 719 clear enough. And, look here, isn't this page 719?"
"Why, yes, it seems to be. I don't understand. Oh, this is it—that means paragraph 719. Look under that. There you are. What? 'June 2d, 1659, Jabez Whicher was accused before the justices of stealing sundry fowl and swine from several of the townsfolk, and he did plead that he was guilty, and was fined twelve pence, and sentenced to confinement in the jail for one year, and to be branded with the letter T on his right cheek.' Dear me, is that your ancestor?"
"Why no, certainly not; how ridiculous! Another person of the same name, of course."
"But it is a very unusual name."
"Not at all, Whicher is a common name—I mean, that is—I mean—oh, of course this is some one else."
I cannot chronicle their conversation any further. Enough has been given to show you the nature of the annoyances to which I was subjected yesterday. I look to you, gentlemen, for relief.