The good merchant patted Benjamin on the head, and evidently considered him a wonderful boy.  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. Pennington’s return to Philadelphia, a package arrived at Springfield, directed to our little friend Ben.

“What can it possibly be?” thought Ben, when it was put into his hands.  “Who can have sent me such a great square package as this!”

On taking off the thick brown paper which enveloped it, behold! there was a paint-box, with a great many cakes of paint, and brushes of various sizes.  It was the gift of good Mr. Pennington.  There were likewise several squares of canvas, such as artists use for painting pictures upon, and, in addition to all these treasures, some beautiful engravings of landscapes.  These were the first pictures that Ben had ever seen, except those of his own drawing.

What a joyful evening was this for the little artist!  At bedtime, he put the paint-box under his pillow, and got hardly a wink of sleep; for, all night long, his fancy was painting pictures in the darkness.  In the morning, he hurried to the garret, and was seen no more till the dinner-hour; nor did he give himself time to eat more than a mouthful or two of food, before he hurried back to the garret again.  The next day, and the next, he was just as busy as ever; until at last his mother thought it time to ascertain what he was about.  She accordingly followed him to the garret.

On opening the door, the first object that presented itself to her eyes was our friend Benjamin, giving the last touches to a beautiful picture.  He had copied portions of two of the engravings, and made one picture out of both, with such admirable skill that it was far more beautiful than the originals.  The grass, the trees, the water, the sky, and the houses, were all painted in their proper colors.  There, too, was the sunshine and the shadow, looking as natural as life.

“My dear child, thou hast done wonders!” cried his mother.

The good lady was in an ecstasy of delight.  And well might she be proud of her boy; for there were touches in this picture, which old artists, who had spent a lifetime in the business, need not have been ashamed of.  Many a year afterwards, this wonderful production was exhibited at the Royal Academy in London.

When Benjamin was quite a large lad, he was sent to school at Philadelphia.  Not long after his arrival, he had a slight attack of fever, which confined him to his bed.  The light, which would otherwise have disturbed him, was excluded from his chamber by means of closed wooden shutters.  At first, it appeared so totally dark, that Ben could not distinguish any object in the room.  By degrees, however, his eyes became accustomed to the scanty light.