tried to expostulate, but she raised her voice, speaking more
quickly.

"An' you come 'round again after supper an' we'll tell ye what we've
decided," she concluded.

The humor of this reply was lost on Copernicus, but he moved toward the
door with a sense of distinct encouragement.

"Remember the rumpus we'll make with all them inventions," Droop called
back as he walked toward the gate, "think of the money we'll make!"

But Rebecca was thinking of something very different as she stood at the
front door gazing with softened eyes at the pasture and woods beyond the
road. She seemed to see a self-willed girl breaking her own heart and
another's rather than acknowledge a silly error. She was wondering if
that had really been Rebecca Wise. She felt again all the old bewitching
heart-pangs, sweetened and mellowed by time, and she wondered if she
were _now_ really Rebecca Wise.

CHAPTER II

A VISIT TO THE PANCHRONICON

At precisely eight o'clock that evening, a knock was again heard at the
door of the Wise home, and Droop was admitted by the younger sister. She
did not speak, and her face was invisible in the dark hall. The visitor
turned to the right and entered the parlor, followed by his young
hostess. Rebecca was sitting by the lamp, sewing. As she looked up and
nodded, Droop saw that her features expressed only gloomy severity. He
turned in consternation and caught sight for the first time of
Phoebe's face. Her eyes and pretty nose were red and her mouth was
drawn into a curve of plaintive rebellion.

"Set down, Mr. Droop. Give me yer hat," she said; and there was a
suspicious catch in her voice.

The visitor seated himself by the centre-table beside the lamp and sat
slowly rubbing his hands, the while he gazed mournfully from one to the
other of the silent sisters. Phoebe sat on the long horse-hair
"settle," and played moodily with the tassel hanging at its head.

There was a long pause. Each of the women seemed bent on forcing the
other to break the silence.

Poor Droop felt that his plans were doomed, and he dared not urge either
woman to speech, lest he hear the death-sentence of his hopes. Finally,
however, the awkward silence became unbearable.

"Well?" he said, inquiringly, still rubbing his hands.

"Well," Rebecca exclaimed, "it seems it's not to be done," and she
looked reproachfully at Phoebe.

The words fulfilled his fears, but the tone and glance produced a thrill
of hope. It was ev