All the older members of the family were interested in the boy's
pastime, and while they were indulging in various remarks, he bounded
out of the house, with his head filled with bewitching fancies,
evidently expecting such a day of joy as he never knew before. Perhaps
the toy-shop was first in his mind, into which he had looked wistfully
many times as he passed, and perhaps it was not. We say toy-shop,
though it was not such a toy-shop as Boston has to-day, where thousands
of toys of every description and price are offered for sale. But it was
a store in which, with other articles, toys were kept for sale, very
few in number and variety compared with the toys offered for sale at
the present day. Benjamin had seen these in the window often, and, no
doubt, had wished to possess some of them. But there were no toys in
the Franklin family; there were children instead of toys, so many of
them that money to pay for playthings was out of the question.

Benjamin had not proceeded far on the street when he met a boy blowing
a whistle that he had just purchased. The sound of the whistle, and the
boy's evident delight in blowing it, captivated Benjamin at once. He
stopped to listen and measure the possessor of that musical wonder. He
said nothing, but just listened, not only with his ears, but with his
whole self. He was delighted with the concert that one small boy could
make, and, then and there, he resolved to go into that concert business
himself. So he pushed on, without having said a word to the owner of
the whistle, fully persuaded to invest his money in the same sort of a
musical instrument. Supposing that the whistle was bought at the store
where he had seen toys in the window, he took a bee line for it.

"Any whistles?" he inquired, almost out of breath.

"Plenty of them, my little man," the proprietor answered with a smile,