There was sawdust in it, and parchment-dust, and lumber-dust; it was ill salted, badly baked, sad; sometimes it was blue-moldy, and sometimes even maggoty; but the mass of it was honest flour, and those who did not recoil from the look of it, or recognize the presence of the variety of foreign matter, could live upon it, in a sense, up to a certain pitch of life.

But a great deal of it was not of his baking at all--he had been merely the distributor--crumbling down other bakers' loaves and making them up again in his own shapes.

In his declining years, however, he had been really beginning to learn the business.

Only, in his congregation were many who not merely preferred bad bread of certain kinds, but were incapable of digesting any of high quality.
He would have gone to chapel that morning had the young man been such as he could respect.

Neither his doctrine, nor the behavior of the church to himself, would have kept him away.