ts down to Boston in the ground that used
to belong to our great-grandfather Wilkins 'fore the Revolution."

This train of reasoning seemed satisfactory, and Phoebe turned to
resume her book.

Copernicus intercepted her as she passed the table.

"What d'ye think o' this little phonograph, Cousin Phoebe?" he said.

One of Droop's boxes stood open and beside it Phoebe saw a phonograph
with the usual spring motor and brass megaphone.

"I paid twenty-five fer that, secon' hand, down to Keene," said the
proud owner.

"There!" exclaimed Phoebe. "I've always wanted to know how those
things worked. I've heard 'em, you know, but I've never worked one."

"It's real easy," said Droop, quite delighted to find Phoebe so
interested. "Ye see, when it's wound up, all ye hev to do is to slip one
o' these wax cylinders on here--so."

He adjusted the cylinder, dropped the stylus and pushed the starting
lever.

Instantly the stentorian announcement rang out from the megaphone.

"The Last Rose of Summer--Sola--Sung by Signora Casta Diva--Edison
Record!"

"Goodness gracious sakes alive!" cried Rebecca, turning in affright.
"Who's that?"

Her two companions raised their right hands in a simultaneous appeal for
silence. Then the song began.

With open eyes and mouth, the amazed Rebecca drew slowly nearer, and
finally took her stand directly in front of the megaphone.

The song ended and Copernicus stopped the motor.

"Oh, ain't it lovely!" Phoebe cried.

"Well--I'll--be--switched!" Rebecca exclaimed, with slow emphasis. "Can
it sing anythin' else?"

"Didn't you never hear one afore, Cousin Rebecca?" Droop asked.

"I never did," she replied. "What on the face of the green airth does
it?"

"Have ye any funny ones?" Phoebe asked, quickly, fearful of receiving
a long scientific lecture.

"Yes," said Droop. "Here's a nigger minstrels. The's some jokes in it."

The loud preliminary announcement made Rebecca jump again, but while the
music and the songs and jokes were delivered, she stood earnestly
attentive throughout, while her companions grinned and giggled
alternately.

"Is thet all?" she asked at the conclusion.

"Thet's all," said Droop, as he removed the cylinder.

"Well, I don't see nothin' funny 'bout it," she said, plaintively.

Droop's pride was touched.

"Ah, but that ain't all it can do!" he cried. "Here's a blank cylinder.
You jest talk at the machine while it's runnin', an' it'll talk back all
you say