ffair. He therefore let the culprits off pretty easily.

But, when the constables were dismissed, the poor boys had to go through
another trial, and receive sentence, and suffer execution too, from their
own fathers. Many a rod I grieve to say, was worn to the stump, on that
unlucky night.

As for Ben, he was less afraid of a whipping than of his father's
disapprobation. Mr. Franklin, as I have mentioned before, was a sagacious
man, and also an inflexibly upright one. He had read much, for a person in
his rank of life, and had pondered upon the ways of the world, until he
had gained more wisdom than a whole library of books could have taught
him. Ben had a greater reverence for his father, than for any other person
in the world, as well on account of his spotless integrity, as of his
practical sense and deep views of things.

Consequently, after being released from the clutches of the law, Ben came
into his father's presence, with no small perturbation of mind.

"Benjamin, come hither," began Mr. Franklin, in his customary solemn and
weighty tone.

The boy approached, and stood before his father's chair, waiting
reverently to hear what judgment this good man would pass upon his late
offence. He felt that now the right and wrong of the whole matter would be
made to appear.

"Benjamin," said his father, "what could induce you to take property which
did not belong to you?"

"Why, father," replied Ben, hanging his head, at first, but then lifting
his eyes to Mr. Franklin's face, "if it had been merely for my own
benefit, I never should have dreamed of it. But I knew that the wharf
would be a public convenience. If the owner of the stones should build a
house with them, nobody will enjoy any advantage except himself. Now, I
made use of them in a way that was for the advantage of many persons. I
thought it right to aim at doing good to the greatest number."

"My son," said Mr. Franklin, solemnly, "so far as it was in your power,
you have done a greater harm to the public, than to the owner of the
stones."

"How can that be, father?" asked Ben.

"Because," answered his father, "in building your wharf with stolen
materials, you have committed a moral wrong. There is no more terrible
mistake, than to violate what is eternally right, for the sake of a
seeming expediency. Those who act upon such a principle, do the utmost in
their power to destroy all that is good in the world."

"Heaven forbid!" said Benjamin.

"No