For this expert what/who does the peddler represent? Any other comments such as what the purpose of the hand is welcome too but the peddler is the most important to me 
I dreamt that I was standing at the door of the kitchen at Mr. Kinnear’s. It was in the summer kitchen; I had just been scrubbing the floor, I know that because my shirts were still tucked in and my feet were bare and wet and I had not yet put my clogs back on. A man was there, just outside on the step, he was a peddler of some sort, like Jeremiah the peddler who I once bought the buttons from, for my new dress, and McDermott bought the four shirts.
But this was not Jeremiah, it was a different man. He had his pack open and the things spread out on the ground, the ribbons and buttons and combs and piece of cloth, very bright they were in the dream, silks and cashmere shawls and cotton prints gleaming in the sun, because it was broad daylight and full summer.
I felt he was someone who I had once known, but he kept his face turned away so I could not see who it was. I could sense that he was looking down, looking at my bare legs, bare from the knee and none too clean from scrubbing the floor, but a leg is a leg, dirty or clean, and I did not pull down my skirts. I though, Let him look, poor man, there’s nothing like that where he’s come from. He must have been a foreigner of some sort, he walked a long way, and he had a darkish and starved look to him, or so I though in the dream.
But then he wasn’t looking anymore, he was trying to sell me something. He had a thing of mine and I needed it back, but I had no money so I could not buy it from him. We will make a trade then, he said, we will bargain. Come, what will you give me, he said in a teasing way.
What he had was one of my hands. I could see it now, it was white and shriveled up, he was dangling it by the wrist like a glove. But then I looked down at my own hands, and I saw that there were two of them, on their wrists, coming out of the sleeves as usual, and I knew that this third hand must belong to some other woman. She was bound to come around looking for it, and if I had it in my possession she would say I had stolen it; but I did not want it anymore, because it must have been cut off. And sure enough, there was blood now, dripping and thick like syrup; but I was not horrified by it at all, as I would have been by real blood if awake; instead I was anxious about something else. Behind me I could hear the music of a flute, and this made me very nervous.
Go away, I said to the peddler man, you must go away right now. But he kept his head turned aside and would not move, and I suspected he might be laughing at me.
Thanks ^^
I dreamt that I was standing at the door of the kitchen at Mr. Kinnear’s. It was in the summer kitchen; I had just been scrubbing the floor, I know that because my shirts were still tucked in and my feet were bare and wet and I had not yet put my clogs back on. A man was there, just outside on the step, he was a peddler of some sort, like Jeremiah the peddler who I once bought the buttons from, for my new dress, and McDermott bought the four shirts.
But this was not Jeremiah, it was a different man. He had his pack open and the things spread out on the ground, the ribbons and buttons and combs and piece of cloth, very bright they were in the dream, silks and cashmere shawls and cotton prints gleaming in the sun, because it was broad daylight and full summer.
I felt he was someone who I had once known, but he kept his face turned away so I could not see who it was. I could sense that he was looking down, looking at my bare legs, bare from the knee and none too clean from scrubbing the floor, but a leg is a leg, dirty or clean, and I did not pull down my skirts. I though, Let him look, poor man, there’s nothing like that where he’s come from. He must have been a foreigner of some sort, he walked a long way, and he had a darkish and starved look to him, or so I though in the dream.
But then he wasn’t looking anymore, he was trying to sell me something. He had a thing of mine and I needed it back, but I had no money so I could not buy it from him. We will make a trade then, he said, we will bargain. Come, what will you give me, he said in a teasing way.
What he had was one of my hands. I could see it now, it was white and shriveled up, he was dangling it by the wrist like a glove. But then I looked down at my own hands, and I saw that there were two of them, on their wrists, coming out of the sleeves as usual, and I knew that this third hand must belong to some other woman. She was bound to come around looking for it, and if I had it in my possession she would say I had stolen it; but I did not want it anymore, because it must have been cut off. And sure enough, there was blood now, dripping and thick like syrup; but I was not horrified by it at all, as I would have been by real blood if awake; instead I was anxious about something else. Behind me I could hear the music of a flute, and this made me very nervous.
Go away, I said to the peddler man, you must go away right now. But he kept his head turned aside and would not move, and I suspected he might be laughing at me.
Thanks ^^