"Did you hear me scream and grab you in my sleep?"
Blakely, eating his breakfast in taciturn silence, admitted briefly that he recollected it quite well. The experience was not new.
"Last night I dreamed"—Blakely resigned himself to a period of suffering. For twenty years he had listened to his wife's dreams, and he had not grown to relish the recital more with the passing of time.
"Last night I dreamed"—reiterated Mrs. Blakely with zest—resting her elbows comfortably on the table and clasping both hands around her cup, "that rattlesnakes was swarmin' down on me from everywhars—big ones—little ones—all kinds of colors—and on the fight. I got a good holt on one back of the ears"
"Ears, Ma?"
"I said ears—an' he couldn't git away, but I dassn't let go, an' all the rest was gittin' ready to strike—that's when I screamed out loud, Charlie—and then who do you 'spose come along and made 'em cl'ar out? Regina, take yoah fingers out of the sugar-bowl!"
