“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 even. 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.