Old woman: “I put a double handful of bran into a small pot, or kettle, but a jug will do, and a teaspoonful of salt; but mind you don't kill it with salt, for if you do, it won't rise. I then add as much warm water, at blood-heat, as will mix it into a stiff batter. I then put the jug into a pan of warm water, and set it on the hearth near the fire, and keep it at the same heat until it rises, which it generally will do, if you attend to it, in two or three hours' time. When the bran cracks at the top, and you see white bubbles rising through it, you may strain it into your flour, and lay your bread. It makes good bread.”
Tom: “My good woman, I am greatly obliged to you. We have no bran; can you give me a small quantity?”
Old woman: “I never give anything. You Englishers, who come out with stacks of money, can afford to buy.”
Tom: “Sell me a small quantity.”
Old woman: “I guess I will.” (Edging quite close, and fixing her sharp eyes on him.) “You must be very rich to buy bran.”
Tom (quizzically): “Oh, very rich.”
Old woman: “How do you get your money?”
Tom (sarcastically): “I don't steal it.”
Old woman: “Pr'aps not. I guess you'll soon let others do that for you, if you don't take care. Are the people you live with related to you?”
Tom (hardly able to keep his gravity): “On Eve's side. They are my friends.”