We'd never lived i' a house wi' a back door, an' t' missus had to hing
all her weshin' of a Tuesday across t' street. Well, I looked round to
see if I could clap eyes on t' lad that had telled me to bury t' pig,
but he were nowheer to be seen. But just then I heerd a buzzin' sound,
an' I reckoned there mun be a waps somewheer about. An' a waps it were.
He flew round an' round my heead, allus coomin' nearer an' nearer, an'
at lang length he settled hissen reight on t' top o' my neb. An' wi'
that I gav a jump, an' by Gow! there was I sittin' on t' bench in my
'lotment. I'd fallen asleep, an all that I'd seen o' t' potate an' t'
pig an' t' house, ay, an' t' lad wi' green eyes, were nobbut a dream.
But t' waps weren't a dream, for I'd seen him flee away when I wakkened
up."

"What you've told me, Abe, is like a bit of real life," I said, after a
pause. "Most of our dreams in this world turn into wasps, with stings in
their tails."

"Nay," replied Abe the optimist; "but 'twere not a proper sort of dream
nawther. I've thowt a vast about it off an' on, an' I reckon 'twere a
dream wi' a meanin' tul it. 'Twere like Pharaoh's dream o' t' fat an'
lean beasts. Happen one day I'll find a Joseph that'll tell me what it
all means!"




Coals of Fire


I