At last and at length, John Jackson, the grocer, had a nephew come to stay a week with him, as was 'prentice to a lawyer in Liverpool; so now was my time, and here was my lawyer.

Wait a minute! I could tell you my story better if I had my will in my hand; and I'll scomfish you if ever you go for to tell." She held up her hand, and threatened Ruth as she left the kitchen to fetch the will.
When she came back, she brought a parcel tied up in a blue pocket-handkerchief; she sat down, squared her knees, untied the handkerchief, and displayed a small piece of parchment.
"Now, do you know what this is ?" said she, holding it up.

"It's parchment, and it's the right stuff to make wills on.

People gets into Chancery if they don't make them o' this stuff, and I reckon Tom Jackson thowt he'd have a fresh job on it if he could get it into Chancery; for the rascal went and wrote it on a piece of paper at first, and came and read it me out loud off a piece of paper no better than what one writes letters upon.

I were up to him; and, thinks I, Come, come, my lad, I'm not a fool, though you may think so; I know a paper will won't stand, but I'll let you run your rig.
So I sits and I listens.