Then, in addition, he formed rules of conduct and wrote them out and committed them to memory.  The maxims he adopted are old as thought, yet can never become antiquated, for in morals there is nothing either new or old, neither can there be.

On that return voyage from England, he inwardly vowed that his first act on getting ashore would be to find Deborah Read and make peace with her and his conscience.  And true to his vow, he found her, but she was the wife of another.  Her mother believed that Franklin had run away simply to get rid of her, and the poor girl, dazed and forlorn, bereft of will, had been induced to marry a man by the name of Rogers, who was a potter and also a potterer, but who Franklin says was “a very good potter.”

After some months, Deborah left the potter, because she did not like to be reproved with a strap, and went home to her mother.

Franklin was now well in the way of prosperity, aged twenty-four, with a little printing business, plans plus, and ambitions to spare.  He had had his little fling in life, and had done various things of which he was ashamed; and the foolish things that Deborah had done were no worse than those of which he had been guilty.  So he called on her, and they talked it over and made honest confessions that are good for the soul.  The potter disappeared—­no one knew where—­some said he was dead, but Benjamin and Deborah did not wear mourning.  They took rumor’s word for it, and thanked God, and went to a church and were married.

Deborah brought to the firm a very small dowry; and Benjamin contributed a bright baby boy, aged two years, captured no one knows just where.  This boy was William Franklin, who grew up into a very excellent man, and the worst that can be said of him is that he became Governor of New Jersey.  He loved and respected his father, and called Deborah mother, and loved her very much.  And she was worthy of all love, and ever treated him with tenderness and gentlest considerate care.  Possibly a blot on the ’scutcheon may, in the working of God’s providence, not always be a dire misfortune, for it sometimes has the effect of binding broken hearts as nothing else can, as a cicatrice toughens the fiber.

Deborah had not much education, but she had good, sturdy commonsense, which is better if you are forced to make choice.  She set herself to help her husband in every way possible, and so far as I know, never sighed for one of those things you call “a career.”  She even worked in the printing-office, folding, stitching, and doing up bundles.

Long years afterward, when Franklin was Ambassador of the American Colonies in France, he told with pride that the clothes he wore were spun, woven, cut out, and made into garments—­all by his wife’s own hands.  Franklin’s love for Deborah was very steadfast.  Together they became rich and respected, won world-wide fame, and honors came that way such as no American before or since has ever received.