"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:
