t last Lord Halifax saw how useful he had become,
and he honored him with his friendship. When he died, which was some
fourteen years ago, all the people felt that they had lost a friend."

The two aunts bowed over in reverence for such a character. Aunt Esther
did more than this. She put her finger slowly and impressively on little
Ben's arm, and said:

"It may be that you will grow up and be like him."

"Or like Father Folger," added Aunt Prudence, who wished to remind Uncle
Benjamin that the Folgers too had a family history.

Little Ben was really impressed by the homely story which he now heard a
second time. It presented a looking-glass to him, and he saw himself in
it. He looked up to his Uncle Ben with an earnest face, and said:

"I would like to help folks, too; why can I not, if Uncle Tom did?"

"A very proper remark," said Aunt Esther.

"Very," said Aunt Prudence.

"Good intentions are all right," said Josiah Franklin. "They do to sail
away with, but where will one land if he has not got the steering gear?
That is a good story, Brother Ben. Encourage little Ben here all you
can; it may be that you might have become a man like Uncle Tom if you
had had some esquire to encourage you."

The aunts sat still and thought of this suggestion.

Then Josiah played on his violin, and the two aunts told tales of the
work of _their_ good father among the Indians of Martha's Vineyard and
Nantucket.

A baby lay in Abiah Franklin's arms sleeping while these family stories
were related. It was a girl, and they had named her Jane, and called her
"Jenny."

Amid the story-telling Jenny awoke, and put out her arms to Ben.

"The baby takes to Ben," said the mother. "The first person that she
seemed to notice was Ben, and she can hardly keep her little eyes off of
him."

Ben took little Jenny into his arms.

As Uncle Benjamin grew older the library of pamphlets that he had sold
and on whose margins he had written the best thoughts of his life
haunted him. He would sometimes be heard to exclaim:

"Those pamphlets! those pamphlets!"

"Why do you think so much of the lost pamphlets, uncle?" said little
Ben.

"Hoi, Ben, hoi! 'tis on your account, Ben. I want you to have them, Ben,
and read them when you are old; and I want my son Samuel to have them,
although his mind does not turn to philosophy as yours does. It tore my
heart to part with them, but I did it for you. One must save or be a
slave. You see what it is