human
It was a quare dhrame I had last night, Shamey.
gpt
What was it, Maurya?
human
Well, then, said she,
gpt
I do, said myself,
human
Well, then, Shamey, and mind you, I didn't tell this to anyone but yourself, I dreamt last night them three legs to the pot were the three sticks; and rayson that out for me if you can, for I can't. I think sometimes my poor head is goin', Shamey.
gpt
I don't know, Maurya, said I.
human
I don't know what it means.
gpt
Ah, then, how could you, Shamey? said she.
human
Sure you never supped sorrow, and I hope you never will, avick, and 'tis only them that has supped it year after year that could tell poor Maurya what she wants to know.
gpt
Do you see the three legs of it, Shamey?
human
I do, Maurya,
gpt
They are red now from the fire, said she.
human
And he was red--Red Michil, you know--and I dreamt last night that they were the three sticks. But dhrames are foolish, and there's no use minding them, Shamey. And how could they be the three sticks? Sure, you couldn't hang a mouse on them, could you, Shamey, let alone Red Michil?