THE ELDER FRANKLIN'S STORIES.
PETER FOLGER, Quaker, the grandfather of Benjamin Franklin, was one of
those noblemen of Nature whose heart beat for humanity. He had been
associated in the work of Thomas Mayhew, the Indian Apostle, who was the
son of Thomas Mayhew, Governor of Martha's Vineyard. The younger Mayhew
gathered an Indian church of some hundred or more members, and the
Indians so much loved him that they remained true to him and their
church during Philip's war.
What stories Abiah Franklin could have told, and doubtless did tell, of
her old home at Nantucket!--stories of the true hearts of the pioneers,
of people who loved others more than themselves, and not like the
sea-rovers who at this time were making material for the Pirate's Own
Book.
Josiah, too, had his stories of Old England and the conventicles, heroic
tales of the beginning of the long struggle for freedom of opinion. Hard
and rough were the stories of the Commonwealth, of Cromwell, Pym, and
Sir Henry Vane, the younger.
There was one very pleasing old tale that haunted Boston at this time,
of the Hebrew parable order, or after the manner of the German legend.
Such stories were rare in those days of pirates, Indians, and ghosts,
the latter of whom were supposed to make their homes in their graves and
to come forth in their graveclothes, and to set the hearts of unquiet
souls to beating, and like feet to flying with electrical swiftness
before the days of electricity.
Governor Winthrop--the same who got lost in the Mystic woods, and came
at night to an Indian hut in a tree and climbed into it, and was ordered
out of it at a later hour when the squaw came home--took a very
charitable view of life. He liked to reform wrongdoers by changing their
hearts. Out of his large love for every one came this story of old
Boston days.
We will listen to it by the Franklin fire in the candle shop. It was an
early winter tale, and it will be a good warm place to hear it there.
"It is a cold night," said Josiah, "and Heaven pity those without fuel
on a night like this! There are not overmany like Governor Winthrop in
the world."
Abiah drew her chair up nearer to the great fire, for it made one chilly
to hear the beginning of that story, but the end of it made the heart
warm.
"It was in the early days of the colony," said Josiah, "and the woods in
the winter were bare, and the fields were cold. There was a lack of wood
on the Mystic near the town.
"A poor man lived there on the salt marsh with his family. He had had a
hard time to raise enough for their support. A snowstorm came, and his
fuel was spent, his hearth was cold, and there was nothing to burn.
"The great house of the Governor rose over the ice-bordered marshes.
Near it were long sheds, and under them high piles of wood brought from
the hills.
"The poor man had no wood, but after a little time smoke was seen coming
out of his chimney.
"There came one day a man to the Governor, and said:
"'Pardon me, Governor, I am loath in my heart to accuse any one, but in
the interest of justice I have something which I must tell you.'
"'Speak on, neighbor.'
"'Some one has been stealing your wood.'
"'It is a hard winter for the poor. Who has done this?'
"'The man who lives on the marsh.'
"'His crop was not large this year.'
"'No, it failed.'
"'He has a wife and children.'
"'True, Governor.'
"'He has always borne a good reputation.'
"'True, Governor, and that makes the case more difficult.'
"'Neighbor, don't speak of this thing to others, but send that man to
me.'
"The man on the marsh came to the Governor's. His face was as white as
snow. How he had suffered!
"'Neighbor,' said the Governor, 'this is a cold winter.'
"'It is, your Honor.'
"'I hope that your family are comfortable.'
"'No, your Honor; they have sometimes gone to bed supperless and cold.'
"'It hurts my conscience to know that. Have you any fuel?'
"'None, your Honor. My children have kept their bed for warmth.'
"'But I have a good woodpile. See the shed: there is more wood there
than I can burn. I ought not to sit down by a comfortable fire night
after night, while my neighbor's family is cold.'
"'I am glad that you are so well provided for, for you are a good man,
and have a heart to feel for those in need.'
"'Neighbor, there is my woodpile. It is yours as well as mine. I would
not feel warm if I were to sit down by my fire and remember that you and
your wife and your children were cold. When you need any fuel, come to
my woodpile and take all the wood that you want.'
"The man on the marsh went away, his head hanging down. I believe that
there came into his heart the powerful resolution that he would never
steal again, and we have no record that he ever did. The Governor's hope
for him had made him another man.
"He came for the wood in his necessity one day. The Governor looked at
him pleasantly.
"'Why did you not come to me before?'"
Josiah Franklin looked around on the group at the fireside, and opened
the family Bible.
"Do you think that the Governor did right, Brother Ben?"
"Well, it isn't altogether clear to me."
"What do you think, Abiah?"
"Father would have done as he did. He hindered no one, but helped every
one. He saw life on that side."
"Well, little Ben, what have you to say?"
"The Governor looked upon the heart, didn't he? He felt for the man.
Would it not be better for all to look that way? The worth of life
depends upon those we help, lift, and make, not in those we destroy. I
like the old Governor, I do, and I am sorry that there are not many more
like him. That seems like a Luke story, father. Read a story from Luke."
Josiah read a story from Luke.
There followed a long prayer, as usual. Then the children kissed their
mother and Jenny and crept up to their chamber. The nine-o'clock bell
had rung, and the streets were still. The watchman with his lantern went
by, saying, "Nine o'clock, and all is well!" None of the family heard
him say, "Ten o'clock, and all is well!" They were in slumberland after
their hard, homely toil, and some of them may have been dreaming of the
good old Governor, who followed literally the words of the Master who
taught on the Mount of Beatitudes.