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.">[