[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
sorry for it! Aha, Master Franklin, 'twill take no gazing in the
crystal to see that the future of a wise and industrious lad is made of
gold. What's that you're carrying as carefully as if 'twas your book?

FRANKLIN
(dropping book and basket, and showing kite).
My kite. To-day was a half-holiday, and I've been flying it on Beacon
Hill till the wind hath made me sleepy.

THE OLD WOMAN
(keenly).
You've fastened a little key to it.

FRANKLIN
(with a burst of candor).
Sometimes I think I'll fly it in a thunderstorm and gather up the
lightning.

THE OLD WOMAN
(tapping the ground vigorously with her cane).
Those are bold words, Master Benjamin Franklin. Are you not feared to
speak them? (Looks half-fearfully over her left shoulder.) Folk might
think you were in league with--with strange powers! (There is a touch
of the eighteenth-century beldame in her as she speaks these words).