This hope was very delightful to Franklin, and he showed the strongest desire to learn and to do everything that was right; so that Mr. Spencer soon grew fond of him, and took great pains to instruct him, and to give him all the good habits and principles which might make him a useful, respectable and happy man. When he was about thirteen years of age, Mr. Spencer one day sent for him into his closet; and as he was folding up a letter which he had been writing, said to him, with a very kind look, but in a graver tone than usual, “Franklin, you are going to leave me.” “Sir!” said Franklin. “You are now going to leave me, and to begin the world for yourself. You will carry this letter to my sister, Mrs. Churchill, in Queen’s Square. You know Queen’s Square?” Franklin bowed. “You must expect,” continued Mr. Spencer, “to meet with several disagreeable things, and a great deal of rough work, at your first setting out; but be faithful and obedient to your mistress, and obliging to your fellow-servants, and all will go well. Mrs. Churchill will make you a very good mistress, if you behave properly; and I have no doubt but you will.” “Thank you, sir.” “And you will always—I mean, as long as you deserve it—find a friend in me.” “Thank you, sir—I am sure you are—” There Franklin stopped short, for the recollection of all Mr. Spencer’s goodness rushed upon him at once, and he could not say another word. “Bring me a candle to seal this letter,” said his master; and he was very glad to get out of the room. He came back with the candle, and, with a stout heart, stood by whilst the letter was sealing; and, when his master put it into his hand, said, in a cheerful voice, “I hope you will let me see you again, sir, sometimes.” “Certainly; whenever your mistress can spare you, I shall be very glad to see you; and remember, if ever you get into any difficulty, don’t be afraid to come to me. I have sometimes spoken harshly to you; but you will not meet with a more indulgent friend.” Franklin at this turned away with a full heart; and, after making two or three attempts to express his gratitude, left the room without being able to speak. He got to Queen’s Square about three o’clock. The door was opened by a large, red-faced man, in a blue coat and scarlet waistcoat, to whom he felt afraid to give his message, lest he should not be a servant. “Well, what’s your business, sir?” said the butler. “I have a letter for Mrs. Churchill, sir,” said Franklin, endeavouring to pronounce his “sir” in a tone as respectful as the butler’s was insolent.