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When his parents saw how much their son’s performances were admired, they no doubt remembered the prophecy of the old Quaker preacher, respecting Ben’s future eminence. Yet they could not understand how he was ever to become a very great and useful man, merely by making pictures. One evening, shortly after Mr.
Ben’s right-hand man was "Stump," the collie, so named because he had no tail worth mentioning, but otherwise in full possession of his faculties. Stump was newly broken to his official duties and authority sat heavily on him. Keenly alert, he flew hither and thither, first after one straying member of the herd, then another, barking an early morning roll-call as he went.
It was queer enough, to be sure, to hear this little chap—this rosy-cheeked, ten-year-old boy—talking about schemes for the public benefit! Nevertheless, his companions were ready to listen, being assured that Ben’s scheme, whatever it was, would be well worth their attention.
If the owner of the stolen property had not been more merciful than the master-mason, it might have gone hard with our friend Benjamin and his fellow-laborers. But, luckily for them, the gentleman had a respect for Ben’s father, and moreover, was amused with the spirit of the whole affair. He therefore let the culprits off pretty easily.
Ben’s proposal was received with one of those uproarious shouts, wherewith boys usually express their delight at whatever completely suits their views. Nobody thought of questioning the right and justice of building a wharf, with stones that belonged to another person. "Hurrah, hurrah!" shouted they. "Let’s set about it!"
When Ben’s verses were printed, his brother sent him to sell them to the town’s-people, wet from the press. "Buy my ballads!" shouted Benjamin, as he trudged through the streets, with a basketful on his arm. "Who’ll buy a ballad about Black Beard? A penny a piece! a penny a piece! who’ll buy my ballads?"
The boys wore overalls and flannel shirts, which, in contrast to the sketchy effects of their sisters’ costumes, seemed almost modish. Mrs. Yellett then left the "class-room," saying she must take Ben’s place with the sheep. The Brobdingnags, huge of stature, sinister of aspect, deeply distrustful of the rites in which they were about to participate, closed in about their teacher.
In due course of time, he acquired great fame by his pictures, and was made chief painter to King George the Third, and President of the Royal Academy of Arts. When the Quakers of Pennsylvania heard of his success, they felt that the prophecy of the old preacher, as to little Ben’s future eminence, was now accomplished.
But Ben had grown a great boy since those days, and had gained wisdom by experience; for it was one of his peculiarities, that no incident ever happened to him without teaching him some valuable lesson. Thus he generally profited more by his misfortunes, than many people do by the most favorable events that could befall them. Ben’s face was already pretty well known to the inhabitants of Boston.
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