11
Hommy: Whist, now. Come you ever here that he’ll not be hearin’–
Mrs. Gale: ’Deed I think it’s asleep he is.
Hommy: It’s not sleep that’s doin’ on that falla. Boul as an athag he is, an’ wide awake as a gander. Lizzen here now. Up at the Cronk where I was rarin’ to there was just such another, the very marra of this wan, an’ it was my own Grandmother proved it on them, the way I’ll be doin’ for you now.
Mrs. Gale: Aw Hommy, I’m not goin’ to have the chile hurted–
Hommy: Who’s goin’ to hurt him? If he is what I’m thinkin’ he won’t wait to be hurted, an’ them wans won’t let him be hurted either.
Mrs. Gale: Well now, I have been thinkin’ times there was something quare in him too. Would it be the evil eye that was goin’ a puttin’ on him, or was he butched, or what–. But do you think, Hommy, that themselves have been playing a trick on me?
Hommy: You do as I tell you, Mrs. Gale, an’ you will be thankin’ Hommy gran’ when you’ve your own lil falla back again.
Mrs. Gale [hesitating]: Well as long as you won’t be hurtin’ him for fear you’re makin’ a mistake–. What is it them I am to do Hommy man?
Hommy: You are to go out to the haggart an’ bring in a passel of turves, if you plase, an’ I’ll watch him.
Mrs. Gale goes out, looking first at child in cradle and then suspiciously at Hommy. Child yells.
Hommy [going to cradle and rocking]:
Sleep, boy, sleep,
Dhrame, boy, dhrame;
The King can only ate his mate,
An’ I can do the same.
Hush, boy hush,
Hushie, bowie, bow,
Rixum, raxum, pring, prash,
Hushie, bowie, bow,
