I was asking, brother, whether you believe in dukkeripens ?' 'I do not, Mr.Petulengro; but this is strange weather to be asking me whether I believe in fortunes.' 'Grondinni,' said Mr.Petulengro, 'it haileth.

I believe in dukkeripens, brother.' 'And who has more right,' said I; 'seeing that you live by them?
But this tempest is truly horrible.' 'Dearginni, grondinni ta villaminni! It thundreth, it haileth, and also flameth,' said Mr.Petulengro.

'Look up there, brother!' I looked up.

Connected with this tempest there was one feature to which I have already alluded--the wonderful colours of the clouds.

Some were of vivid green; others of the brightest orange; others as black as pitch.
The gypsy's finger was pointed to a particular part of the sky.
'What do you see there, brother ?' 'A strange kind of cloud.' 'What does it look like, brother ?' 'Something like a stream of blood.' 'That cloud foreshoweth a bloody dukkeripen.' 'A bloody fortune!' said I.