"T' make believe," cries she, "that I'd not be here! How could you!"
"'Tis not a lie."
"'Tis a white lie, child," she chided. "You've come, Dannie, poor lad!
t' be a white liar. 'Tis a woful state--an' a parlous thing. For,
child, if you keeps on--"
She had paused. 'Twas a trick to fetch the question. I asked it.
"You'll be a blue one," says she. "An' then--"
"What then?"
"Blue-black, child. An' then--"