“Most willingly.  But I have no yeast; and I never baked in one of those strange kettles in my life.”

“I’ll go to old Joe’s wife and borrow some,” said he; “they are always borrowing of you.”  Away he went across the field, but soon returned.  I looked into his jug—­it was empty.  “No luck,” said he; “those stingy wretches had just baked a fine batch of bread, and they would neither lend nor sell a loaf; but they told me how to make their milk-emptyings.”

“Well, discuss the same;” but I much doubted if he could remember the recipe.

“You are to take an old tin pan,” said he, sitting down on the stool, and poking the fire with a stick.

“Must it be an old one?” said I, laughing.

“Of course; they said so.”

“And what am I to put into it?”

“Patience; let me begin at the beginning.  Some flour and some milk—­but, by George!  I’ve forgot all about it.  I was wondering as I came across the field why they called the yeast milk-emptyings, and that put the way to make it quite out of my head.  But never mind; it is only ten o’clock by my watch.  I having nothing to do; I will go again.”

He went.  Would I had been there to hear the colloquy between him and
Mrs. Joe; he described it something to this effect:—­

Mrs. Joe:  “Well, stranger, what do you want now?”

Tom:  “I have forgotten the way you told me how to make the bread.”

Mrs. Joe:  “I never told you how to make bread.  I guess you are a fool.  People have to raise bread before they can bake it.  Pray who sent you to make game of me?  I guess somebody as wise as yourself.”

Tom:  “The lady at whose house I am staying.”

Mrs. Joe:  “Lady!  I can tell you that we have no ladies here.  So the old woman who lives in the old log shanty in the hollow don’t know how to make bread.  A clever wife that!  Are you her husband?” (Tom shakes his head.)—­“Her brother?”—­(Another shake.)—­“Her son?  Do you hear? or are you deaf?” (Going quite close up to him.)

Tom (moving back):  “Mistress, I’m not deaf; and who or what I am is nothing to you.  Will you oblige me by telling me how to make the mill-emptyings; and this time I’ll put it down in my pocket-book.”

Mrs. Joe (with a strong sneer):  “Mill-emptyings!  Milk, I told you.  So you expect me to answer your questions, and give back nothing in return.  Get you gone; I’ll tell you no more about it.”

Tom (bowing very low):  “Thank you for your civility.  Is the old woman who lives in the little shanty near the apple-trees more obliging?”

Mrs. Joe:  “That’s my husband’s mother.  You may try.  I guess she’ll give you an answer.” (Exit, slamming the door in his face.)

“And what did you do then ?” said I.

“Oh, went of course.  The door was open, and I reconnoitred the premises before I ventured in.  I liked the phiz of the old woman a deal better than that of her daughter-in-law, although it was cunning and inquisitive, and as sharp as a needle.  She was busy shelling cobs of Indian corn into a barrel.  I rapped at the door.  She told me to come in, and in I stepped.  She asked me if I wanted her.  I told her my errand, at which she laughed heartily.”