"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." "Like what, my friend?" "Like 'The noblest question in the world is what good may I do in it?' There! Like 'None preaches better than the ant, and she says nothing.' There!" "I see, I see, my good friend, you seem to have confidence in Poor Richard?" "Sir, I taught him much of his wisdom--he and I used to be great friends. I always knew that he had a star in his soul that would shine--I foresaw it all. I have the gift of second sight. I am a Scotchman." "And you prophesied good things to him when he was a boy?" "Yes, yes, or, if I did not, I only spoke in a discouraging way to encourage him. He and I were chums; we used to sit on Long Wharf together and _prognosticate_ together. That was a kind of Harvard College to us. Uncle Ben was living then." "Maybe the stranger would like you to read The Old Auctioneer," said Abiah to the Scotchman. "My boy wrote that--he told you. My boy has good sense--Jamie here will tell you so. I'm older now than I was." "Yes, yes, read, and let me rest. When the bell rings for nine I will go to the inn." "Maybe we can keep you here. We'll talk it over later. I want to hear Ben's piece. I'm his mother, and they tell me it is interesting to people who are no relation to him.--Jamie, you read the piece, and then we will talk over the past. It seems like meeting Ben again to hear his pieces read." Jamie the Scotchman read, and while he did so Abiah, wrinkled and old, looked often toward the stranger out of her dim eyes, while she listened to her son's always popular story of The Old Auctioneer. "That is a very good piece," said Abiah Franklin; "and now, stranger, let me say that your voice sounds familiar, and I want you to tell me in a good strong tone who you be. I didn't hear you give any name." "Is it almost nine?" asked the stranger. Jamie opened the door. A bell smote the still air, a silverlike bell. It spoke nine times. "I never heard that bell before," said the stranger. Suddenly music flooded the air; it seemed descending; there were many bells--and they were singing. "The Old North chimes," said the Scotchman; "they have just been put up. I wish Ben could hear them; I sort of carry him in my heart." "Don't speak! It is beautiful," said the stranger. "Hear what they are saying." "O Jamie, Jamie, _father_ used to play that tune on his violin." "_Father!_" The old woman started.