ering
tracery across the grass.

At the beginning of the scene this grassy space is deserted. It is the
far end of the Common, a place not much frequented by loiterers. The
first person to cross it is young Benjamin Franklin, who comes slowly
in from right. He wears knee-breeches, a loose white shirt, silver
buckles on his square-toed shoes, and a three-cornered hat on his head.
He is reading from a book which he holds in his right hand, while on
his left arm hangs a basket of tallow candles. Slung across his left
shoulder is a kite, its string trailing.

He walks slowly, pausing every now and then to turn a page. The old
woman enters from right, and comes quickly towards Franklin. She is
wonderfully keen-eyed and light of foot, and is clad in a green quilted
petticoat, with a green bodice, a touch of white at neck, and a green
double cape. A white cap is perched on her snow-white head. She also
carries a small market-basket, and a gold-headed cane. Her stockings
are scarlet, her low black shoes have gold buckles. She is, withal,
arrestingly picturesque, and there hangs about her a slight air of
mystery, that is well in accordance with her profession, which is that
of soothsayer.

Franklin is so deep in his book that she soon catches up with him,
passes him, looks back, and sees that he does not perceive her. Then
she stands still and lets him pass her, still staring at him. Then she
comes briskly up behind him, and taps him on the arm with her cane.

THE OLD WOMAN.
Fare not so fast, young sir. If your book makes you so blind to
customers, 'tis not many candles you'll be selling.

FRANKLIN
(at first somewhat startled, then looking up quite calmly).
And if I do not mind my books, 'tis naught but candles I'll be selling
all my life.

THE OLD WOMAN.
Well spoken, tallow-chandler's son. Whatever your calling, I see that
your wits are not made of wax. Give me a shilling's worth o' candles,
and tell me what good your toil is like to bring you.

FRANKLIN
(putting down book, kite, and basket, and selecting candles).
I have ambition to become a printer.

THE OLD WOMAN
(paying him and putting candles in her basket).
So!

FRANKLIN.
And if I do not apply myself, how am I like to learn? There are no
gains without pains, and heaven gives all things to Industry.
[Footnote: From "Poor Richard's Almanac."]

THE OLD WOMAN
(holding up her hands).
To hear him! (Chuckling to herself.) Keep on! Keep on! You'll ne'er be
so