“How many days is passed since de new moon, brudders?” Skeeter inquired in a trembling voice.
“Sixteen!” Vinegar replied, after making the count.
“Us all had our dreams las’ night, didn’t we?” Skeeter squealed.
“Yes, suh,” the chorus answered.
“Lawdymussy, niggers, we is saved!” Skeeter screamed, waving his dream book about his head. “I done found a new page in dis book!”
“Whut do she say?” the chorus screamed.
“Listen to dis!” Skeeter panted: “‘Jedgments drawn from de moon’s age: Dreams on de fifteenth day atter de new moon will not come to pass; whatever bizzness a pusson undertakes dis day will prosper. De sixteenth day differs very little from de pre-ced-in’; but any undertakin’ on dis day will come to a foolish end.’”
“Bless Gawd!” Vinegar Atts bellowed, springing to his feet. “I’s gwine trust de Lawd an’ mosey back to Tickfall!”
“Hol’ on, niggers!” Skeeter squealed, as the others also sprang up.
Skeeter stooped over the fire and laid his little volume on the interpretation of dreams upon the hot ashes.