mite, hev I?"

"No more'n I hev!" Rebecca exclaimed, hotly. "Nor you won't, nuther. Ye
might jest's well make up yer mind to it thet the whole business is
foolish folderols. We're a nice couple o' geese, we are, to come out
here to play 'Here we go round the mulberry bush' with the North
Pole--an' all along of a shif'less, notorious slave o' rum!"

She plumped herself into a chair and glared at the darkened window as
though fascinated by those ever-returning flashes of sunlight.

"Well--well--well!" murmured Phoebe.

She was much disappointed, and yet somehow she could not avoid a certain
pleasure in the thought that at least there was no fear of a return to
childhood.

"But what're we goin' to do?" she asked at length. "If Mr. Droop's so
tight he can't manage the machine, what'll we do. Here we are tied up to
the North Pole----"

"Oh, drat the old Panchronicon!" cried Rebecca.

Then rising in her wrath, she continued with energy: "The's one thing
I'm goin' to do right this blessed minute. I'm goin' to draw a hull
bucket o' cold water an' throw it over that mis'able critter in there!
Think o' him sleepin' on the table--the table as we eat our victuals
on!"

"No--no. Don't try to wake him up first!" cried Phoebe. "Let's have
breakfast--we can have it in the kitchen--an' then you can douse him
afterward. Just think of the wipin' an' cleanin' we'll have to do after
it. We'll be starved if we wait breakfast for all that ruction!"

Rebecca reflected a moment. Then:

"I guess ye're right, Phoebe," she said. "My, won't that carpet look a
sight! I'll go right an' fix up somethin' to eat, though goodness knows,
I'm not hungry."

She left Phoebe to dress and made a wide circuit to avoid even
approaching the table on her way to the kitchen. Not long afterward she
was followed by her sister, who took a similar roundabout path, for
Phoebe was quite as much in horror of drink and drinkers as Rebecca.

She glanced at the date indicator as she passed it.

"My sakes!" she said, as she entered the kitchen, "it's March 25, 1887.
Why, then's the time that I had the measles so bad. Don't you remember
when I was thirteen years old an' Dr. ----"

Rebecca broke in with a snort.

"Eighty-seven grandmothers!" she exclaimed. "Don't you get to frettin'
'bout gettin' the measles or anything else, Phoebe--only sof'nin' of
the brain--I guess we've both got that right bad!"

"I don't know 'bout that," Phoebe replied, as she began t