The dreaded tithing-man at her side,
And the queer poke-bonnets all turning
round!
Then she sat straight up in the old oak pew,
Grave and pale as a lily-flower;
But she thought the people all looked at her,
While all their eyes did lower and glower;
And, going home, she fancied the birds
Called back and forth, with a knowing nod:
"There's the little maid whom the tithing-