"That depen's," says she, "ef thou wants king's brains, or sodger's brains, or schoolme'aster's brains, a dinna keep 'em."
"Hout no," says he, "jist ord'nar brains—fit fur any fool—same 's every one has 'bout here; suthin' clean common-like."
"Aye so," says tha wise woman, "a' might manage that, ef so be thou'll help thysel'."
"Hoo 's that fur, missis? " says he.
"Jest so," says she, lookin' in 's pot; "bring me the heart o' tha thing thou likes best o' all, an' a 'll tell thee where to get thy pottle o' brains."
"But," says he, scratching his head, "hoo can a do that?"
"That 's no 'on fur me to say," says she, "fin' oot fur thysel', my lad! ef thou disna want to be a fool a' thy days. But thou 'll hev' to read me a riddle so 's a can see thou 'st brought the reet thing, an' ef thy brains is 'boot thee. An' a 've suthin' else to see to," says she, "so gode'en to 'ee," and she carried the pot away wi' her into tha back place.
So off goes the fool to 's mother, an' tellt her what tha wise woman said.
"An' a reckon a 'll hev to kill that pig," says he, "fur a like fat bacon better nor iverythin'."
"Then do 't, my lad," said 's mother, "fur sartain 't 'ull be a stra'ange an' good thing fur 'ee, ef thou canst buy a pottle o' brains, an' be able to look arter thy ain sel'."
So he killed 's pig, an' nex' day off a went to tha wise woman's cottage, an' there she sat, readin' in a great book.
"Gode'en, missis," say he, "a 've brought thee tha heart o' tha thing a likes best o' all; an' a put it hapt i' paper on tha table."
"Aye so?" says she, an' looked at him through her spec'itals. "Tell me this then, what rins wi'oot feet?
