"The Old Auctioneer," answered the aged man. "Have you read it?"
"Yes; it is on the taxes."
"So it is—I've read it twice over. I'm now reading it to Abiah. Let me tell you a secret—her son wrote it. My opinion is that it is the smartest piece of work that ever saw the light on this side of the water. What's yourn?"
"There's sense in it."
"What did he say his name was?" asked Abiah.
"Have you ever read any of Poor Richard's maxims?" asked the stranger quickly.
"Yes, yes; we have taken the Almanac for years. Ben publishes it."
"What did he say?" asked Abiah. "I can not hear as well as I once could.—Stranger, I heard you when you spoke loud at the door."
"Repeat some of 'Poor Richard's' sayings," said the stranger.
"You may well say 'repeat,'" said the old man. "I used to hear Ben Franklin say things like that when he was a 'prentice lad."