you.'

'Halloo, sir, are you sleeping? you have taken drows; the gentleman makes
no answer. God give me patience!'

'And what if he doesn't, bebee; isn't he poisoned like a hog? Gentleman,
indeed! why call him gentleman? if he ever was one he's broke, and is now
a tinker, a worker of blue metal.'

'That's his way, child, to-day a tinker, to-morrow something else; and as
for being drabbed, I don't know what to say about it.'

'Not drabbed! what do you mean, bebee? but look there, bebee; ha, ha,
look at the gentleman's motions.'

'He is sick, child, sure enough. Ho, ho! sir, you have taken drows;
what, another throe! writhe, sir, writhe; the hog died by the drow of
gypsies; I saw him stretched at evening. That's yourself, sir. There is
no hope, sir, no help, you have taken drow; shall I tell you your
fortune, sir, your dukkerin? God bless you, pretty gentleman, much
trouble will you have to suffer, and much water to cross; but never mind,
pretty gentleman, you shall be fortunate at the end, and those who hate
shall take off their hats to you.'

'Hey, bebee!' cried the girl; 'what is this? what do you mean? you have
blessed the gorgio!'

'Blessed him! no, sure; what did I say? Oh, I remember, I'm mad; well, I
can't help it, I said what the dukkerin dook told me; woe's me, he'll get
up yet.'

'Nonsense, bebee! Look at his motions, he's drabbed, spite of dukkerin.'

'Don't say so, child; he's sick, 'tis true, but don't laugh at dukkerin,
only folks do that that know no better. I, for one, will never laugh at
the dukkerin dook. Sick again; I wish he was gone.'

'He'll soon be gone, bebee; let's leave him. He's as good as gone; look
there, he's dead.'

'No, he's not, he'll get up--I feel it; can't we hasten him?'

'Hasten him! yes, to be sure; set the dog upon him. Here, juggal, look
in there, my dog.'

The dog made its appearance at the door of the tent, and began to bark
and tear up the ground.

'At him, juggal, at him; he wished to poison, to drab you. Halloo!'

The dog barked violently, and seemed about to spring at my face, but
retreated.

'The dog won't fly at him, child; he flashed at the dog with his eye, and
scared him. He'll get up.'

'Nonsense, bebee! you make me angry; how should he get up?'

'The dook tells me so, and, what's more, I had a dream. I thought I was
at York, standing amidst a crowd to see a man hung, and the crowd
shouted, "There he comes!" and I looked, and lo!