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.