"Don't ye believe ye might change yer mind?" he asked, mournfully.

"We'll be through with the breakfast an' have things set to rights by
eight o'clock," said Phoebe.

CHAPTER III

A NOCTURNAL EVASION

Promptly at the appointed time, Copernicus Droop might have been seen
approaching the white cottage. Still nursing a faint hope, he walked
with nervous rapidity, mumbling and gesticulating in his excitement. He
attracted but little attention. His erratic movements were credited to
his usual potations, and no one whom he passed even gave him a second
glance.

Nearing the house he saw Phoebe leaning out of one of the second-story
windows. She had been gazing westward toward Burnham's swamp, but she
caught sight of Droop and nodded brightly to him. Then she drew in her
head and pulled down the window.

Phoebe opened the door as Copernicus entered the garden gate, and it
was at once apparent that her buoyant mood was still upon her, for she
actually offered her hand to her visitor as he stood at the threshold
wiping his feet.

"Good mornin'," she said. "I've ben tryin' to see if I could find the
Panchronicon out of my window. It's just wonderful how well it's hidden
in the bushes."

She led him to the parlor and offered him a seat.

"Where's Cousin Rebecca?" he said, as he carefully placed his hat on the
floor beside his chair.

Phoebe seated herself opposite to her visitor with her back to the
windows, so that her face was in shadow.

"Rebecca's upstairs," she replied.

Then, after a moment's pause: "She's packin' up," she said.

Droop straightened up excitedly.

"What--packin'!" he cried. "Hev ye decided ye'll go, then?"

"Well," said Phoebe, slowly, "we have an'--an' we haven't."

"What d'ye mean?"

"Why, Mr. Droop, it's just like this," she exclaimed, leaning forward
confidentially. "Ye see, Rebecca an' I are both just plumb crazy to try
that wonderful plan of cuttin' meridians at the North Pole--an' we're
wild fer a ride on that queer kind of a boat or whatever ye call it. At
the same time, Rebecca has to acknowledge that it's askin' too much of
me to go back to two years old an' live like a baby. For one thing, I
wouldn't have a thing to wear."

"But ye might make some clothes before ye start," Droop suggested.

"Mr. Droop!" Phoebe exclaimed, severely, "what _do_ you s'pose folks
would say if Rebecca and I was to set to work makin' baby clothes--two
old maids like us?"

Droop looked