"Well, ye see I want to plan out how long it'll take," Droop replied. "I want to go slow so as to avoid side weight—but I don't want to go too slow."
"I see," said Phœbe. "Well, then, how many times a minute did the future man take you when you whirled back five weeks?"
"'Bout two times a minute."
"That's one hundred and twenty times every hour. Did you feel much side weight then?"
"Scarcely any."
"Well, let's see. Divide eight thousand and thirty-five whirls by one hundred and twenty, an' you get sixty-seven hours. So that, ef we go at that rate it'll be two days and nineteen hours 'fore we get back to 1876."
"Don't talk about days," Droop objected. "It's sixty-seven hours by the clock—but it's twenty-two years less than no time in days, ye know."
"Sixty-seven hours," said Phœbe. "Well, that ain't so bad, is it? Why not go round twice a minute?"
"We can't air our beds fer three days, Phœbe," said Rebecca.
"But if we go much faster, we'll all be sick with this side weight trouble that Mr. Droop tells about."
"I vote fer twice a minute," said Droop. And so twice a minute was adopted.
"Air ye goin' to start to-night, Mr. Droop?" asked Rebecca.
"Well, no," he replied. "I think it's best to wait till to-morrow. Ye see, the power that runs the Panchronicon is got out o' the sunlight that falls on it. Of course, we're not all run out o' power by a good lot, but we've used considerable, an' I think it's a little mite safer to lie still fer a few hours here an' take in power from the sun. Ye see, it'll shine steady on us all night, an' we'll store up enough power to be sure o' reachin' 1876 in one clip."
"Well," said Rebecca, "ef thet's the plan, I'm goin' to bed right now. It's after eight o'clock, an' I didn'tget to sleep las' night till goodness knows when. Good-night! Hedn't you better go, too, Phœbe?"
"I guess I will," said Phœbe, turning to Copernicus. "Good-night, Mr. Droop."
"Good-night, Cousin Phœbe—good-night, Cousin Rebecca. I'll go to bed myself, I b'lieve."
The two doors were closed and Droop proceeded to draw the steel shutters in order to produce artificially the gloom not vouchsafed by a too-persistent sun.
In half an hour all were asleep within the now motionless conveyance.
All were up betimes when the faithful clock announcedthat it ought to be morning. As for the sun, as though resenting the liberties about to be taken by these adventurers with its normal functions, it refused to set, and was found by the three travellers at the same altitude as the night before.
Promptly after breakfast Droop proceeded to don a suit of furs which he drew from a cupboard within the engine-room.
"Ye'd better hev suthin' hot ready when I come in again," he said. "I 'xpect I'll be nigh froze to death."
He drew on a huge cap of bear's fur which extended from his crown to his shoulders. There was a small hole in front which exposed only his nose and eyes.
"My, but you do look just like a pictur of Kris Kringle!" laughed Phœbe. "Don't he, Rebecca?"
Rebecca came to the kitchen door wiping a dish with slow circular movements of her towel.
"I don't guess you'll freeze very much with all that on," she remarked.
"Thet shows you don't know what seventy or eighty below zero means," said a muffled voice from within the fur cap. "You'll hev suthin' hot, won't ye?"Droop continued, looking appealingly at Phœbe.
"The'll be a pot o' good hot tea," she said. "That'll warm you all right."
Droop thought of something more stimulating and fragrant, but said nothing as he returned to the cupboard. Here he drew forth an apparently endless piece of stout rope. This he wound in a thick coil and hung over his head.
"Now, then," he said, "when I get down you shet the door at the top of the stairs tight, coz jest's soon's I open the outside door, thet hall's goin' to freeze up solid."
"All right!" said Phœbe. "I'll see to it."
Droop descended the stairs with a heavy tread, and as he reached the foot Phœbe closed the upper door, which she now noticed was provided with weather-strips.
Then the two women stood at the windows on the right-hand side of the vessel and watched Droop as he walked toward the pole. He raised the huge iron ring, snapping over it a special coupling hook fixed to the end of the rope.
Then he backed toward the vessel, unrolling the coil of rope as he moved away from the pole. Evidently they were within the forty-foot limit from the pole, for Droop had some rope to spare when he at length reached under the machine to attach the end to a ring which the sisters could not see.
He emerged from beneath the bulging side of thevessel swinging his arms and blowing a mighty volume of steam, which turned to snow as it left him. As he made directly for the entrance again, Phœbe ran to the kitchen.
"Poor man, he'll be perished!" she exclaimed.
As Droop entered the room, bringing with him a bitter atmosphere, Phœbe appeared with a large cup of hot tea.
"Here, Mr. Droop," she said, "drink this quick!"
Copernicus pulled off his cap and sat down to drink his tea without a word. When he had finished it, he pulled back his chair with a sigh.
"Whillikins! But 'twas cold!" he exclaimed. "Seems mos' like heaven to get into a nice warm room like this!"
"An' did ye get every thin' done right?" Rebecca asked.
"I guess I did," he said, emphatically. "I don't want to take no two bites out o' that kind o' cherry."
He rose and proceeded to remove his fur coverings.
"Goin' to start right now?" said Phœbe.
"Might's well, I guess."
He proceeded to the engine-room, followed by Phœbe, who watched his actions with the greatest interest.
"What you doin' with that handle?" she asked.
"That sets the airyplane on the uptilt. I'm only settin' it a mite—jest 'nough to keep the machine from sinkin' down when we get to movin'."
"How are you goin' to lift us up?"
"Just let out a mite o' gas below," said Droop. He suited the action to the word, and, with a tremendous hissing beneath it, the vessel rose slowly.
Droop pulled the starting lever and they moved forward with increasing speed. When they had gathered way, he shut off the gas escape and carefully readjusted the aeroplanes until the machine as a whole moved horizontally.
There was felt a slight jerk as they reached the end of the rope, and then they began to move in a circle from east to west.
Phœbe glanced at the clock.
"Just five minutes past eight," she said.
The sun was pouring its beams into the right-hand windows when they started, but the shafts of light now began to sweep circularly across the floor, and in a few moments, as they faced the sun, it ceased to shine in from the right. Immediately afterward it shone in at the left-hand windows and circled slowly around until again they were in shadow with the sun behind them.
Droop took out his watch and timed their revolutions by the sun's progress from window to window.
"'Bout one to the minute," he remarked. "Guess I'll speed her up a mite."
Carefully he regulated the speed, timing their revolutions accurately.
"There!" he said at length. "I guess that's pretty nigh two to the minute. D'ye feel any side weight?" he said, addressing his companions.
"No," said Rebecca.
Phœbe shook her head.
"You manage right well, Mr. Droop," she said. "You must have practised a good deal."
"Oh, not much," he replied, greatly pleased. "The future man showed me how to work it three—four times. It's simple 'nough when ye understand the principles."
These remarks brought a new idea to Rebecca's mind.
"Why, Mr. Droop," she exclaimed, "whatever's the use o' you goin' back to 1876! Why don't ye jest set up as the inventor o' this machine? I'm sure thet ought to make yer everlastin' fortune!"
"Oh, I thought o' that," he said. "But it's one thing to know how to work a thing an' it's a sight different to know how it's made an' all that. The future man tried to explain all the new scientific principles that was mixed into it—fer makin' power an' all—but I couldn't understand that part at all."
"An' besides," exclaimed Phœbe, "it's a heap more fun to be the only ones can use the thing, I think."
"Yes—seems like fun's all we're thinkin' of," said Rebecca, rising and moving toward the kitchen. "We're jest settin' round doin' nothin'. I'll finish with the breakfast things if you'll put to rights and dust, Phœbe. We can't make beds till night with the windows tight shut."
These suggestions were followed by the two women, while Droop, picking up the newspaper which Rebecca had brought, sat down to read.
After a long term of quiet reading, his attention was distracted by Rebecca's voice.
"I declare to goodness, Phœbe!" she was saying. "Seems's if every chance you get, you go to readin' those old letters."
"Well, the's one or two that's spelled so funny and written so badly that I haven't been able yet to read them," Phœbe replied.
Droop looked over his paper. Phœbe and her sister were seated near one of the windows on the opposite side.
"P'raps I could help ye, Cousin Phœbe," he said. "I've got mighty strong eyesight."
"Oh, 'tain't a question of eyesight," Phœbe replied, laughing.
"Oh, I see," said Droop, smiling slyly, "letters from some young feller, eh?"
He winked knowingly at Rebecca, who drew herself up indignantly and looked severely down at her knitting.
Phœbe blushed, but replied quite calmly:
"Yes—some of them from a young man, but they weren't any of them written to me."
"No?" said Droop. "Who was they to—'f I may ask?"
"They were all written to this lady."
Phœbe held something out for Droop's inspection, and he walked over to take it.
He recognized at once the miniature on ivory which he had seen once before in Peltonville.
"Well," he said, taking the portrait from her and eying it with his head on one side, "if ye hadn't said 'twasn't you, I'd certainly a-thought 'twas. I'd mos' sworn 'twas your photygraph, Cousin Phœbe. Who is it, anyway?"
"It isn't anybody," she replied, "but itwasMistress Mary Burton of Burton Hall. I'm one of her descendants, an' these are some letters she had with her in this funny old carved box when she disappeared with her lover. They fled to Holland and were married there, the story goes, an' one o' their children came over in the early days o' New England. He brought the letters an' the picture with him."
"Well, now! I want to know!" exclaimed Droop, in great admiration. "'Twouldn't be perlite, I s'pose, to ask to hear some o' them letters?"
"Would you like to hear some of them?" Phœbe asked.
"I would fer a fact," he replied.
"Well, bring your chair over here and I'll read you one," she said.
Droop seated himself near the two sisters and Phœbe unfolded a large and rather rough sheet of paper, yellow with age, on which Droop perceived a bold scrawl in a faded ink.
"This seems to have been from Mary Burton's father," Phœbe said. "I don't think he can have been a very nice man. This is what he says:
"'Dear Poll'—horrid nickname, isn't it?"
"Seems so to me," said Droop.
"'Dear Poll—I'm starting behind the grays for London, on my way, as you know ere this, to be knighted by her Majesty. I send this ahead by Gregory on Bess—she being fast enow for my purpose—which is to get thee straight out of the grip of that'——"
Phœbe hesitated.
"He uses a bad word there," she said, in a low tone. "I'll go on and leave that out."
"Yes, do," said Droop.
"'That —— aunt of thine,'" she continued, reading. "'I know her tricks and I learn how she hath suffered that'——"
"There's another," said Phœbe.
"Skip it," said Droop, gravely.
"'That —— milk-and-water popinjay to come courting my Poll. So see you follow Gregory, mistress, and without wait or parley come with him to the Peacock Inn, where I lie to-night. The grays are in fine fettle and thy black mare grows too fat for want of exercise. Thy mother-in-law commands thy instant return with Gregory, having much business forward with preparing gowns and fallals against our presentation to her Majesty.'"
"It is signed 'Isaac Burton,'" said Phœbe, "and see, the paper was sealed with a steel gauntlet."
Droop examined the seal carefully and then returned it, saying:
"Looks to me like a bunch of 'sparagus tumbled over on one side."
Phœbe laughed.
"But what always interests me most in this letter is the postscript," she said. "It reads: 'Thy mother thinks thou wilt make better speed if I make thee to know that the players thou wottest of'——"
"What's a 'wottest'?" said Droop, in puzzled tones.
"Wottest means knowest—haven't you read Shakespeare?"
"No," said Droop.
"'The players thou wottest of are to stop at the Peacock, and will be giving some sport there.'
"Now, those players always interest me," Phœbe continued. "Somehow I can't help but believe that William Shakespeare——"
"Fiddle ends!" Rebecca interrupted. "I've heard that talk fifty-leven times an' I'm pinin' fer relief. Mr. Droop, would you mind tellin' us what the time o' year is now. Seems to me that sun has whirled in an' out o' that window 'nough times to bring us back to the days o' creation."
Droop consulted the date indicator and announced that it was now September 5, 1897.
"Not a year yet!" cried the two women together.
"Why, no," said Copernicus. "Ye see, we are takin' about three hours to lose a year."
"Fer the lands sakes!" cried Rebecca. "Can't we go a little faster?"
"My gracious, yes!" said Droop. "But I'm 'fraid o' the side weight fer ye."
"I'd rather hev side weight than wait forever," said Rebecca, with a grim smile.
"D'ye think ye could stand a little more speed, Cousin Phœbe?" said Droop.
"We might try," she replied.
"Well, let's try, then," he said, and turned promptly to the engine-room.
Very soon the difference in speed was felt, and as they found themselves travelling more rapidly in a circle, the centrifugal force now became distinctly perceptible.
The two women found themselves obliged to lean somewhat toward the central pole to counteract this tendency, and as Copernicus emerged from the engine-room he came toward the others at a decided angle to the floor.
"There! now ye feel the side weight," he exclaimed.
"My, ain't it funny!" exclaimed Rebecca. "Thet's the way I've felt afore now when the cars was goin' round a curve—kinder topplin' like."
"Why, that is the centrifugal force," Phœbe said, with dignity.
"It's the side weight—that's what I call it," Droop replied, obstinately, and for some time there was silence.
"How many years back are we makin' by the hour now, Mr. Droop?" Rebecca asked at length.
"Jest a little over two hours fer a year now," he replied.
"Well," said Rebecca, in a discontented tone, "I think the old Panchronicle is rayther a slow actin' concern, considerin' th' amount o' side weight it makes. I declare I'm mos' tired out leanin' over to one side, like old man Titus's paralytic cow."
Phœbe laughed and Droop replied:
"If ye can't stand it or set it, why lay, Cousin Rebecca. The's good settles all 'round."
With manifestly injured feelings Droop hunted up a book and sat down to read in silence. The Panchronicon was his pet and he did not relish its being thus contemned.
The remainder of the morning was spent in almost completely silent work or reading. Droop scarce took his eyes from his book. Phœbe spent part of the time deep in the Baconian work and part of the time contemplating the monotonous landscape. Rebecca was dreaming of her future past—or her past future, while her knitting grew steadily upon its needles.
The midday meal was duly prepared and disposed of, and, as the afternoon wore away, the three travellers began to examine the date indicator and to ask themselves surreptitiously whether or not they actually felt any younger. They took sly peeps at each other's faces to observe, if possible, any signs of returning youth.
By supper-time there was certainly a less aged airabout each of the three and the elders inwardly congratulated themselves upon the unmistakable effects of another twelve hours.
Not long after the supper dishes had been washed, Rebecca took Phœbe aside and said:
"Phœbe, it seems to me you'd ought to be goin' to bed right soon, now. You're only 'bout eighteen years old at present, an' you'll certainly begin to grow smaller again very soon. It wouldn't hardly be respectable fer ye to do yer shrinkin' out here."
This view of the probabilities had not yet struck Phœbe.
"Why, no!" she exclaimed, rather startled. "I—I don't know's I thought about it. But I certainly don't want Mr. Droop to see me when my clothes begin to hang loose."
Then a new problem presented itself.
"Come to think of it, Rebecca," she said, dolefully, "what'll I do all the time between full-grown and baby size? I didn't bring anything but the littlest clothes, you know."
"Thet's so," said Rebecca, thoughtfully. Then, after a pause: "I don't see but ye'll hev to stay abed, Phœbe, till we get to th' end," she said, sympathetically.
"There it is," said Phœbe, crossly. "Gettin' sent to bed a'ready—even before I expected it."
"But 'tain't that, Phœbe," said Rebecca, with great concern. "I ain't sendin' ye to bed—but—but—whatever elsecanye do with amanin the house!"
"Nothin'," Phœbe replied, with a toss of her chin.
She crossed the room and held out her hand to Droop.
"Good-night, Mr. Droop," she said.
Surprised at this sudden demonstration of friendship, he took her hand and tipped his head to one side as he looked into her face.
"Next time you see me, I don't suppose you'll know me, I'll be so little," she said, trying to laugh.
"I—I wish't you'd call me Cousin Copernicus," he said, coaxingly.
"Well, p'raps I will when I see ye again," she replied, freeing her hand with a slight effort.
Rebecca retired shortly after her sister and Copernicus was once more left alone. He rubbed his hands slowly, with a sense of satisfaction, and glanced at the date dial.
"July 2, 1892," he said to himself. "I'm only thirty-four years old. Don't feel any older than that, either."
He walked deliberately to the shutters, closed them and turned on the electric light. Surrounded thus by the wonted conditions of night, it was not long before he began to yawn. He removed his coat and shoes and lay back in an easy chair to meditate at ease. He faced toward the pole so that the "side weight" would tend to press him gently backward into his chair and therefore not annoy him by calling for constant opposing effort.
He soon dozed off and was whisked through a quicksuccession of fantastic dreams. Then he awoke suddenly, and as though someone had spoken to him. Listening intently, he only heard the low murmur of the machinery below and the ticking of the many clocks and indicators all about him.
He closed his eyes, intending to take up that last dream where he had been interrupted. He recollected that he had been on the very point of some delightful consummation, but just what it was he could not recall.
Sleep evaded him, however. His mind reverted to the all-important question of the recovered years. He began to plan again.
This time he should not make his former mistakes. No—he would not only make immense wealth promptly with the great inventions, he would give up liquor forever. It would be so easy in 1876, for he had never taken up the unfortunate habit until 1888.
Then—rich, young, sober, he would seek out a charming, rosy, good-natured girl—something of the type of Phœbe, for instance. They would be married and——
He got up at this and looked at the clock. It was after midnight. He looked at the date indicator. It said October 9, 1890.
"Well, come!" he thought. "The old Panchronicon is a steady vessel. She's keepin' right on."
He put on his shoes again, for something made him nervous and he wished to walk up and down.
The first thing he did after his shoes were donned was to gaze at himself in the mirror.
"Don't look any younger," he thought, "but I feel so." He walked across the room once or twice.
"Shucks!" he exclaimed. "Couldn't expect to look younger in these old duds, an' at this time o' night, too—tired like I am."
For some time he walked up and down, keeping his eyes resolutely from the date indicator. Finally he threw himself down in the chair again and closed his eyes, nervous and exhausted. He did not feel sleepy, but he must have dozed, for the next time he looked at the clock it was half-past one.
He put out the light and crossed to a settle. Here he lay at full length courting sleep. When he awoke, he thought, refreshed and alert, he would show his youth unmistakably.
But sleep would not return. He tried every position, every trick for propitiating Morpheus. All in vain.
At length he rose again and turned on the light. It was two-fifteen. This time he could not resist looking at the date indicator.
It said September 30, 1889.
Again he looked into the glass.
"My, but I'm nervous!" he thought as he turned away, disappointed. "I look older than ever!"
As he paced the floor there all alone, he began to doubt for the first time the success of his plan.
"Itmustwork right!" he said aloud. "Didn't Igo back five weeks with that future man? Didn't he——"
A fearful thought struck him. Had he perhaps made a mistake? Had they been cutting meridians the wrong way?
But no; the indicator could not be wrong, and that registered a constantly earlier date.
"Ah, I know!" he suddenly exclaimed. "I'll ask Cousin Phœbe."
He reflected a moment. Yes—the idea was a good one. She would be only fifteen years old by this time, and must certainly have changed to an extent of which he was at his age incapable. Besides, she had been asleep, and nervous insomnia could not be responsible for retarding the evidences of youth in her case. His agony of dread lest this great experiment fail made him bold.
He walked directly to Phœbe's door and knocked—first softly, then more loudly.
"Cousin Phœbe—Cousin Phœbe," he said.
After a few calls and knockings, there came a sleepy reply from within.
"Well—what—who is it?"
"It's Cousin Copernicus," he said. "Please tell me. Hev ye shrunk any yet?"
"What—how?" The tones were very sleepy indeed.
"Hev ye shrunk any yet? Are ye growin' littler in there? Oh, please feel fer the footboard with yer toe!"
He waited and heard a rustling as of someone moving in bed.
"Did ye feel the footboard?" he asked.
"Yes—kicked it good—now let me sleep." She was ill-natured with much drowsiness.
Poor Droop staggered away from the door as though he had been struck.
All had failed, then. They were circling uselessly. Those inventions would never be his. The golden dreams he had been nursing—oh, impossible! It was unbearable!
He put both hands to his head and walked across the room. He paused half-consciously before a small closet partly hidden in the wall.
With an instinctive movement, he touched a spring and the door slid back. He drew from the cupboard thus revealed two bottles and a glass and returned to seat himself at the table.
A half an hour later the Panchronicon, circling in the outer brightness and silence, contained three unconscious travellers, and one of them sat with his arms flung across the table supporting his head, and beside him an empty bottle.
Rebecca was the first of the three to waken. Overher small window she had hung a black shawl to keep out the light, and upon this screen were thrown recurrent flashes of sunlight.
"Still a-swingin'," she murmured. "Wonder how fur back we be now!"
She was herself surprised at the eagerness she felt to observe at last the results of their extraordinary attempt.
She rose quickly and was very soon ready to leave her room. She was longing to see Phœbe—Phœbe as she had been when a girl.
Opening her door, she was astonished to find the lamps of the main room aglow and to see Copernicus in his shirt-sleeves, asleep with his head on the table.
As she stepped out of her own room, her senses were offended by the odor of alcohol. With horror she realized that rum, the spirit of all the sources of evil, had found its way into their abode.
She entertained so violent a repugnance for liquors and for men under their influence that she could not bring herself to approach Copernicus.
"He's gone an' got drunk again," she muttered, glaring with helpless anger at the bottles and thenat him.
"Mister Droop! Copernicus Droop!" she cried in a high, sharp voice.
There was no reply.
She looked about her for something to prod him with. There was an arm-chair on casters beside her door. She drew this to her and pushed it with all her might toward the unconscious man.
The chair struck violently against Droop's seat, and even caused his body to sway slightly, but he still slept and gave no sign.
"That settles it!" she exclaimed, with mingled disgust and alarm in her face.
"What's the matter?"
It was Phœbe who called.
"It's me," said Rebecca. "Can I come in?"
"Yes."
Rebecca walked into Phœbe's room, which she found darkened like her own. Her sister was in bed.
"What ever happened to you?" Phœbe asked. "Sounded as though ye'd fallen down or somethin'."
Rebecca stood stiffly with her back to the closed door, her hands folded before her.
"Copernicus Droop is tight! Dead drunk!" she exclaimed, with a shaking voice.
"Drunk!" cried Phœbe. "Lands sakes!—an'—" She looked about her with alarm. "Then what's happened to the machine?" she asked.
"Whirlin', whirlin', same as ever! Cuttin' meridians or sausage meat fer all I care. I jest wish to goodness an' all creation I'd never ben sech a plumb born nateral fool as to—oh, wouldn't I like to jestshakethat man!" she broke out, letting her anger gain the upper hand.
Then Phœbe recalled their situation and their expectations of the night before.
"Why, then I ought to be gettin' little pretty fast," she said, feeling her arms. "I don't see's I've shrunk a 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 Phœbe.
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 Phœbe. "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, Phœbe," 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 Phœbe 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 Phœbe 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, Phœbe—only sof'nin' of the brain—I guess we've both got that right bad!"
"I don't know 'bout that," Phœbe replied, as she began to set the small table for two. "I believe we're gettin' back, after all, Rebecca. The's one thing sure. Everybody knows that ye lose a day every time you go round the world once from east to west, an' I'm sure we've gone round often enough to lose years. I believe that indicator's all right."
"We've not ben goin' round the world, though," Rebecca replied. "That's the p'int. This old iron clothes-pole out here ain't the hull world, I can tell ye!"
"Well, but all the meridians——"
"Oh, bother yer meridians! I ain't seen one o' the things yet—nor you hevn't, either, Phœbe Wise!"
Phœbe was not convinced. It seemed not at all unreasonable, after all, that they should lose time without undergoing any physical change. She concluded to argue the matter no further, however.
Their meal was eaten in silence. As they rose to clear the table, Phœbe said:
"Th' ain't any use of goin' back to 1876 now, is there, Rebecca. Though I do s'pose it won't make any difference to Mr. Droop. He can bring out his inventions an'——"
"Not with my money, or Joe Chandler's, either," Rebecca declared, firmly. "Not as Joe'd ask me tomarry him now. He'd as soon think o' marryin' his grandmother."
"Then what's the use o' goin' back any further. We might's well stop the machine right now, so's not to have so many more turns to wind up again."
"Fiddlesticks!" Rebecca exclaimed. "Don't you fret about that! Don't I tell ye it's folderol! Tell ye what ye can do, though. Open them shutters out there an' let in some sunlight. I've more'n half a mind to open a window, too. Thet smell o' rum in there makes me sick."
"We'd freeze to death in a minute if we tried it," said Phœbe, as she entered the main room.
She went to each of the four windows and opened all the shutters, avoiding in the meantime even a glance at the middle of the room. She did not forget the date indicator, however.
"Merry Christmas!" she cried, with a little laugh. "It's Christmas-day, 1886, Rebecca."
The engine-room door was open. Perhaps it was a sign of her returning youth, but the fact is her fingers itched to get at those bright, tempting brass and steel handles. Droop had explained their uses and she felt sure she could manage the machinery. What a delightful thing it would be to feel the Panchronicon obeying her hand!
"Really, Rebecca," she exclaimed, "if we're not going back to '76 after all, I think it's a dreadful waste of time for us to be throwin' away six months every hour this way."
"'Twon't be long," Rebecca replied, as she turned the hot water into her dishpan. "You come in here an' help wash these dishes, an' ef I don't soon wake up that mis'able—" She did not trust herself further, but tightly compressed her lips and confined her rising choler.
"Why, Rebecca Wise," said Phœbe, "you know it will be hours before that man's got sense enough to run this machine. I'm goin' to stop it myself, right now."
Rebecca had just taken a hot plate from her pan, but she paused ere setting it down, alarmed at Phœbe's temerity.
"Don't you dast to dream o' sech a thing, Phœbe!" she cried, with frightened earnestness.
But Phœbe was confident, and crossed the threshold with a little laugh.
"Why, Rebecca, what you scared of?" she said. "It's just as easy as that—see!"
She pulled the starting lever.
The next instant found her flying out into the middle of the main room following Droop, the table, and all the movable furniture. In the kitchen there was a wild scream and a crash of crockery as Rebecca was thrown against the rear partition.
Phœbe had pulled the lever the wrong way and the Panchronicon was swiftly reaching full speed.
"Heavens and airth!" cried Rebecca.
"Whatever in gracious—" began the dismayed Phœbe.
She broke off in renewed terror as she found herself pushed by an irresistible force to the side of the room.
"Here—here!" she heard from the kitchen. "What's this a-pullin'? Land o' promise, Phœbe, come quick! I've got a stroke!"
"I can't come!" wailed Phœbe. "I'm jammed tight up against the wall. It's as though I was nailed to it."
"Oh, why—why did ye touch that machinery!" cried Rebecca, and then said no more.
The speed indicator pointed to one hundred and seventy-five miles an hour. They were making one revolution around the pole each second—and they were helpless.
As she found herself pushed outward by the immensely increased centrifugal force, Phœbe found it possible to seat herself upon one of the settles, and she now sat with her back pressed firmly against the south wall of the room, only able by a strong effort to raise her head.
She turned to the right and found that Droop had found a couch on the floor under the table and chairs at the rear of the room, also against the south wall.
In the kitchen Rebecca had crouched down as she found herself forced outward, and she now sat dazed on the kitchen floor surrounded by the fragments of their breakfast all glued to the wall as tightly as herself.
"Oh, dear—oh, dear!" she cried, closing her eyes."Copernicus Droop said that side weight would be terrible if we travelled too fast. Why, I'm so heavy sideways I feel like as if I weighed 497½ pounds like that fat woman in the circus down to Keene."
"So do I," Phœbe said, "only I'm so dizzy, too, I can hardly think."
"Shet your eyes, like me," said Rebecca.
"I would only I can't keep 'em off the North Pole there," said Phœbe, as she gazed fascinated through the north window opposite.
"Why, what's the matter with the child!" Rebecca exclaimed, in alarm. "Air ye struck silly, Phœbe?"
"No, but I guess you'd want to watch it too if you could see that ring we're tied to spinnin' round right close to the top of the pole. There—there!" she continued, shrilly. "It'll fly right off in another minute! There! Oh, dear!"
Their attachment did indeed appear precarious. The increased speed acting through the inclined aeroplane had caused the vessel to rise sharply, and the rope had raised the ring by which it was attached to the pole until it came in contact with the steel ball at the top, when it could rise no farther. Here the iron ring was grinding against and under the retaining ball which alone prevented its slipping off the top of the pole.
"I don't see's we'd be any wuss off ef we did come loose," said Rebecca, with eyes still closed. "At least we wouldn't be gummed here ez tight's if the walls was fly-paper."
"No, but we'd fly off at a tangent into infinite space, Rebecca Wise," Phœbe said, sharply.
"Where's that?" asked her sister. "I'll engage 'tain't any wuss place than the North Pole."
"Why, it's off into the ether. There isn't any air there or anythin'. An' they say it's fifty times colder than the North Pole."
"Who's ben there?"
"Why, nobody—" Phœbe began.
"Then let's drop it," snapped Rebecca. "Dr. Kane said the' was an open sea at the North Pole—an' I'm sick o' bein' told about places nobody's ever ben to before."
Phœbe was somewhat offended at this and there was a long silence, during which she became more reassured touching the danger of breaking away from the Pole. Soon she, too, was able to shut her eyes.
The silence was broken by a meek voice from under the table.
"Would you mind settin' off my chist?" said Droop.
There was no answer and he opened his eyes. His bewilderment and surprise were intense when he discovered his situation.
Shutting his eyes again, he remarked:
"What you flashin' that bright light in my eyes so often for?"
Phœbe gave vent to a gentle sniff of contempt.
"My—my—my!" Droop continued, in meek amazement. "I s'pose I must hev taken two wholebottles. I never, never felt so heavy's this before! What's the old Pan lyin' on it's side fer?"
"'Tain't on its side," snapped Phœbe. "The old thing's run away, Copernicus Droop, an' it's all your fault." There was a quiver in her voice.
"Run away!" said Droop, opening his eyes again. "Where to?"
"Nowheres—jest whirlin'. Only it's goin' a mile a second, I do believe—an' it'll fly off the pole soon—an'—an' we'll all be killed!" she cried, bursting into tears.
She dragged her hands with great difficulty to her face against which she found them pressed with considerable energy. Crying under these circumstances was so very unusual and uncomfortable that she soon gave it up.
"Oh, I see! It's the side weight holds me here. Where are you?"
There was no reply, so he turned his head and eyes this way and that until at length he spied Phœbe on the settle, farther forward.
"Am I under the table?" he said. "Where's Cousin Rebecca? Was she pressed out through the wall?"
"I'm out here in the kitchen, Copernicus Droop," she cried. "I wish to goodness you'd ben pressed in through the walls of the lock-up 'fore ever ye brought me'n Phœbe into this mess. Ef you're a man or half one, you'll go and stop this pesky old Panchronicle an' give us a chance to move."
"How can I go?" he cried, peevishly. "What thelands sakes did you go an' make the machine run away for? Couldn't ye leave the machinery alone?"
"I didn't touch your old machine!" cried Rebecca. "Phœbe thought we'd be twisted back of our first birthday ef the thing wasn't stopped, an' she pulled the handle the wrong way, that's all!"
Droop rolled his eyes about eagerly for a glimpse of the date indicator.
"What's the date, Cousin Phœbe?" he asked.
"April 4, 1884—no, April 3d—2d—oh, dear, it's goin' back so fast I can't tell ye the truth about it!"
"Early in 1884," Droop repeated, in awe-struck accents. "An' we're a-whirlin' off one day every second—just about one year in six minutes. Great Criminy crickets! When was you born, Cousin Phœbe?"
"Second of April, 1874."
"Ten years. One year in six minutes—gives ye jest one hour to live. Then you'll go out—bang!—like a candle. I'll go next, and Cousin Rebecca last."
"Well!" exclaimed Rebecca, angrily, "ef I can hev the pleasure o' bein' rid o' you, Copernicus Droop, it'll be cheap at the price—but the's no sech luck. Ef you think ye can fool us any more with yer twaddle 'bout cuttin' meridians, ye're mistaken—that's all I can say."
Droop was making desperate efforts to climb along the floor and reach the engine-room, but, although by dint of gigantic struggles he managed to makehis way a few feet, he was then obliged to pause for breath, whereupon he slid gently and ignominiously back to his nook under the table.
Here he found himself in contact with a corked bottle. He looked at it and felt comforted. At least he had access to forgetfulness whenever he pleased to seek it.
The two women found it wisest to lie quiet and speak but little. The combined rotary movement and sense of weight were nervously disturbing, and for a long time no one of the three spoke. Only once in the middle of the forenoon did Phœbe address Droop.
"Whatever will be the end o' this?" she said.
"Why, we'll keep on whirlin' till the power gives out," he replied. "Ye hevn't much time to live now, hev ye?"
With a throb of fear felt for the first time, Phœbe looked at the indicator.
"It's May, 1874," she said.
"Jest a month—thirty seconds," he said, sadly.
"Copernicus Droop, do you mean it?" screamed Rebecca from the kitchen.
"Unless the power gives out before then," he replied. "I don't suppose ye want to make yer will, do ye?"
"Stuff!" said Phœbe, bravely, but her gaze was fixed anxiously on the indicator, now fast approaching the 2d of April.
"Oh, dear! 'F I could only see ye, Phœbe!" criedRebecca. "I know he's a mis'able deceivin' man, but if—if—oh, Phœbe, can't ye holler!"
"It's April 8th—good-bye!" Phœbe said, faintly.
"Phœbe—Phœbe!"
"Hurray—hurray! It's March 31st, and here I am!"
Phœbe tried to clap her hands, but the effort was in vain.
"I allus said it was folderol," said Rebecca, sternly. "Oh, but I'd like to throw somethin' at that Copernicus Droop!"
"Come to think of it," said Droop, "that future man must hev come back long, long before his birthday."
"Why didn't ye say that sooner?" cried Rebecca.
There was no further conversation until long afterward, when Rebecca suddenly remarked:
"Aren't ye hungry, Phœbe?"
"Why, it's gettin' along to dinner-time, ain't it?" she replied. "I don't see, though, how I'm to get any victuals, do you?"
"Why, the's bread an' other scraps slammed up against the wall here all round me," said Rebecca. "Couldn't we fix some way to get some of 'em to ye?"
Phœbe looked anxiously about and finally caught sight of her sister's knitting work near at hand. It proved to be just within reach, and by slow degrees and much effort she brought it into her lap within easy reach of both her heavy hands.
"Oh, dear!" she said, "I feel's if both my armshad turned to lead. Here, Rebecca, I'm goin' to see if I can roll your ball o' yarn along the floor through the kitchen door. The centrifugal force will bring it to you. Then you can cut the yarn an' tie somethin' on the end for me to eat an' I'll haul it back through the door."
"That's jest the thing, Phœbe. Go on—I'm ready."
The theory seemed excellent, as Rebecca had fortunately been working with a very tough flaxen yarn; but so great was the apparent weight of Phœbe's arms that it was only after a long series of trials ending in failures that she finally succeeded.
"I've got it!" cried Rebecca, triumphantly. "Now, then, I've got a slice of ham and two slices of bread——"
"Don't send ham," said Phœbe. "I'd be sure to eat it if I had it, an' 'twould make me fearful dry. I'm sure I don't see how I'm to get any water in here."
"Thet's so," said Rebecca. "Well, here's an apple and two slices of bread."
"Are you keepin' enough for yourself, Rebecca?"
"Enough an' to spare," she replied. "Now, then—all ready! Pull 'em along!"
Phœbe obeyed and soon had secured possession of the frugal meal which Rebecca had been able to convey to her.
She offered a portion of her ration to Droop, but he declined it, saying he had no appetite. He hadlapsed into a kind of waking reverie and scarce knew what was going on about him.
The two women also were somewhat stupefied by the continual rotation and their enforced immobility. They spoke but seldom and must have dozed frequently, for Phœbe was much surprised to find, on looking at the clock, that it was half-past five.
She glanced at the date indicator.
"Why, Rebecca!" she cried. "Here 'tis November, 1804!"
"My land!" cried Rebecca, forgetting her scepticism. "What do you s'pose they're doin' in New Hampshire now, Phœbe?"
"It's 'bout election time, Rebecca. They're probably votin' for Adams or Madison or somebody like that."
"My stars!" said Rebecca. "What ever shall we do ef this old machine goes on back of the Revolution! I should hate to go back an' worry through all them terrible times."
"We'll be lucky if we stop there," said Phœbe. "I only hope to gracious we won't go back to Columbus or King Alfred."
"Oh, I hope not!" said Rebecca, with a shudder. "Folks ud think we was crazy to be talkin' 'bout America then."
Phœbe tried to toss her head.
"If 'twas in Alfred's time," she said, "they couldn't understandwhatwe was talkin' about."
"Phœbe Wise! What do you mean?"
"I mean just that. There wasn't any English language then. Besides—who's to say the old thing won't whirl us back to the days of the Greeks an' Romans? We could see Socrates and Pericles and Crœsus and——"
"Oh, I'd love to see Crœsus!" Rebecca broke in. "He's the richest man that ever lived!"
"Yes—and perhaps we'll go back of then and see Abraham and Noah."
"Ef we could see Noah, 'twould be worth while," said Rebecca. "Joe Forrest said he didn't believe about the flood. He said Noah couldn't hev packed all them animals in tight enough to hev got 'em all in the Ark. I'd like mighty well if I could ask Noah himself 'bout it."
"He couldn't understand ye," said Phœbe. "All he spoke was Hebrew, ye know."
"Oh!" exclaimed Rebecca. Then, after a pause: "S'pose we went back to the tower of Babel. Couldn't we find the folks that was struck with the English language an' get one of 'em to go back an' speak to Noah?"
"What good would that do? If he was struck with English he wouldn't know Hebrew any more. That's what made— But there!" she exclaimed, "what ninnies we are!"
There was a long pause. After many minutes, Rebecca asked one more question.
"Do you s'pose the flood would come up as fur's this, Phœbe?"
"I don't know, Rebecca. The Bible says the whole earth, you know."
And so passed the slow hours. When they were not dozing they were either nibbling frugally the scant fare in reach or conversing by short snatches at long intervals.
For thirty hours had they thus whirled ceaselessly around that circle, when Phœbe, glancing through the window at the ring to which their rope was attached, noticed that its constant rubbing against the ball at the top of the pole had worn it nearly through.
"My goodness, Rebecca!" she cried. "I believe we're goin' off at a tangent in a minute."
"What? How?"
"The ring on the pole is nigh worn out. I believe it'll break in a minute."
"If it breaks we'll move straight an' get rid o' this side weight, won't we?"
"Yes—but goodness only knows where we'll fly to."
"Why—ain't Mr. Droop there? If the side weight goes, he can get into the engine-room an' let us down easy."
"That's so!" cried Phœbe. "Oh, won't it be grand to stand still a minute after all this traipsin' around and around! Mr. Droop," she continued, "do you hear? You'd better be gettin' ready to take hold an' stop the Panchronicon, 'cause we're goin' to break loose in half no time."
There was no reply. Nor could any calling orpleading elicit an answer. Droop had yielded to his thirst and was again sleeping the sleep of the unregenerate.
"Oh, Rebecca, what— Oh—oo—oo!"
There was a loud scream from both the sisters as the iron ring, worn through by long rubbing, finally snapped asunder.
The tremendous pressure was suddenly lifted, and the two women were free.
With a single impulse, they flew toward the kitchen door and fell into each other's arms.
The Panchronicon had gone off at a tangent at last!
"Oh, Rebecca—Rebecca!" cried Phœbe, in tears. "I was afraid I'd never see you again!"
Rebecca cried a little too, and patted her sister's shoulder in silence a moment.
"There, deary!" she said, after awhile. "Now let's set down an' hev a good cup o' tea. Then we can go to bed comfortable."
"But, Rebecca," said Phœbe, stepping back and wiping her eyes, "what shall we do about the Panchronicon? We're jest makin' fer Infinite Space, or somewheres, as fast as we can go."
"Can't help it, Phœbe. Ye sha'n't touch a thing in that engine-room this day—not while I'm here. Ye might blow us up the nex' time. No—I guess we'll jest hev to trust in the Lord. He brought us into this pickle, an' it's fer Him to see us out of it."
With this comforting reflection the two sistersbrewed a pot of tea, and after partaking of the refreshing decoction, went to their respective beds.
"I declare, I'm dog tired!" said Rebecca.
"So'm I," said Phœbe.
Those were their last words for many hours.
How long they slept after their extraordinary experiencewith the runaway air-ship neither Rebecca nor Phœbe ever knew; but when they awoke all was still, and it was evidently dark outside, for no ray of light found its way past the hangings they had placed over their windows.
There was something uncanny in the total silence. Even the noise of the machinery was stilled, and the two sisters dressed together in Rebecca's room for company's sake.
"Do you suppose we've arrived in Infinite Space yet?" Rebecca asked.
"It's still enough fer it," Phœbe replied, in a low voice. "But I don't hear the Panchronicon's machinery any more. It must have run down entirely, wherever we are."
At that moment there was borne faintly to their ears the distant crowing of a cock.
"Well, there!" said Rebecca, with an expression of immense relief, "I don't believe the's any hens an' roosters in Infinite Space, is the'?"
Phœbe laughed and shook her head as she ran to the window. She drew aside the shawl hanging beforethe glass and peered out.
The first gleams of dawn were dispelling the night, and against a dark gray sky she saw the branches of thickly crowding trees.
Dropping the shawl, she turned eagerly to her sister.
"Rebecca Wise!" she exclaimed. "As sure as you're alive, we're back safe on the ground again. We're in the woods."
"Mos' likely Putnam's wood lot," said Rebecca, with great satisfaction as she finally adjusted her cameo brooch. "Gracious! Won't I be glad to see all the folks again!"
She pushed open her door and, followed by Phœbe, entered the main room. Here all was gloom, but they could hear Droop's breathing, and knew that he was still sleeping under the table in the corner.
"For the lands sakes! Let's get out in the fresh air," Rebecca exclaimed as she groped her way toward the stairs. "You keep a-holt o' me, Phœbe. That's right. We'll get out o' here an' make rabbit tracks fer home, I tell ye. We can come back later for our duds when that mis'able specimen is sober fer awhile again."
Slowly the two made their way down the winding stairs to the lower hall, where, after much fumbling, they found the door handle and lock.
As they emerged from the prison that had so long confined them, a cool morning zephyr swept theirfaces, bringing with it once more the well-known voice of distant chanticleer.
They walked across the springing turf a few yards and were then able to make out the looming black mass of some building beyond the end of the air-ship.
"Goodness!" Rebecca whispered. "This ain't Peltonville, Phœbe. There ain't a house in the town as high as that, 'less it's the meetin'-house, an' 'tain't the right shape fer that."
They advanced stealthily toward the newly discovered building, in which not a single light was to be seen.
"In good sooth," Phœbe exclaimed, putting one hand on her sister's arm, "it hath an air of witchcraft! Dost not feel cold chills in thee, Rebecca?"
Rebecca stopped short, stiff with amazement.
"What's come over ye?" she asked, trying to peer into her sister's face. "Whatever makes ye talk like that, child?"
Phœbe laughed nervously and, taking her sister's arm, pressed close up to her.
"I don't know, dear. Did I speak funny?" she asked.
"Why you know you did. What's the use o' tryin' to scare a body with gibberish? This place is creepy 'nough now."
As she spoke, they reached the door of the strange building. They could see that it stood open, and even as they paused near the threshold another puff of air passed them, and they heard a door squeak on its rusty hinges.
They stood and listened breathlessly, peering into the dark interior whence there was borne to their nostrils a musty odor. A large bat whisked across the opening, and as they started back alarmed he returned with swift zig-zag cuts and vanished ghostlike into the house.
"It's deserted," whispered Rebecca.
"Perhaps it's haunted," Phœbe replied.
"Well, we needn't go in, I guess," said Rebecca, turning from the door and starting briskly away. "Come on this way, Phœbe—look out fer the trees—lands! Did y'ever see so many?"
A few steps brought them to a high brick wall, against which flowers, weeds, and vines grew rank together. They followed this wall, walking more rapidly, for the day was breaking in earnest and groping was needless now. Presently they came to a spot where the wall was broken away, leaving an opening just broad enough to admit a man's body. Rebecca squeezed boldly through and Phœbe followed her, rather for company's sake than with any curiosity to see what was beyond.
They found themselves in a sort of open common, stretching to the edge of a broad roadway about a hundred yards from where they stood. On the other side of the road a cluster of gabled cottages was visible against the faint rose tint of the eastern sky.
As Phœbe came to her sister's side, she clutched her arm excitedly:
"Rebecca!" she exclaimed. "'Tis Newington, as true as I live! Newington and Blackman Street!"
Suddenly she sat down in the grass and hid her face in her hands.
"What d'ye mean?" said Rebecca, looking down at her sister with a puzzled expression. "Where's Newington—I never heerd tell of Blackman Street. Air ye thinkin' of Boston, or——"
Phœbe interrupted her by leaping to her feet and starting back to the opening in the wall.
"Come back, Rebecca!" she exclaimed. "Come back quick!"
Rebecca followed her sister in some alarm. Phœbe must have been taken suddenly ill, she thought. Perhaps they had reached one of those regions infected by fevers of which she had heard from time to time.
In silence the two women hurried back to the Panchronicon, whose uncouth form was now quite plainly visible behind the trees into the midst of which it had fallen when the power stored within it was exhausted.
Not until they were safely seated in Rebecca's room did Phœbe speak again.
"There!" she exclaimed, as she dropped to a seat on the edge of the bed, "I declare to goodness, Rebecca, I don't know what to make of it!"
"What is it? What ails ye?" said Rebecca, anxiously.
"Why, I don't believe I'm myself, Rebecca. I've been here before. I know that village out there,and—and—it's all I can do to talk same's I've always been used to. I'm wanting to talk like—like I did awhile back."
"It's all right! It's all right!" said Rebecca, soothingly. "Th' ain't nothing the matter with you, deary. Ye've ben shet up here with side weight an' what not so long—o' course you're not yerself."
She bustled about pretending to set things to rights, but her heart was heavy with apprehension. She thought that Phœbe was in the first stages of delirium.
"Not myself! No," said Phœbe. "No—the fact is, I'm somebody else!"
At this Rebecca straightened up and cast one horrified glance at her sister. Then she turned and began to put on her bonnet and jacket. Her mind was made up. Phœbe was delirious and they must seek a doctor—at once.
"Get your things on, Phœbe," she said, striving to appear calm. "Put on your things an' come out with me. Let's see if we can't take a little exercise."
Phœbe arose obediently and went to her room. They were neither of them very long about their preparations, and by the time the sun was actually rising, the two women were leaving the air-ship for the second time, Phœbe carrying the precious carved box and Rebecca her satchel and umbrella.
"What you bringin' that everlastin' packet o' letters for?" Rebecca asked, as they reached the opening in the wall.
"I want to have it out in the light," Phœbe replied. "I want to see something."
Outside of the brick wall she paused and opened the box. It was empty.
"I thought so!" she said.
"Why, ye've brought the box 'thout the letters, Phœbe," said Rebecca. "You're not agoin' back for them, air ye?"
"No," Phœbe replied, "'twouldn't do any good. Rebecca. They aren't there."
She dropped the box in the grass and looked wistfully about her.
"Not there!" said Rebecca, nonplussed. "Why, who'd take 'em?"
"Nobody. They haven't been written yet."
"Not—not—" Rebecca gasped for a moment and then hurried toward the road. "Come on!" she cried.
Surely, she thought—surely they must find a doctor without delay.
But before they reached the road, Rebecca was glad to pause again and take advantage of a friendly bush from whose cover she might gaze without being herself observed.
The broad highway which but so short a time ago was quite deserted, was now occupied by a double line of bustling people—young and old—men, women, and children. Those travelling toward their left, to the north, were principally men and boys, although now and then a pair of loud-voiced girls passed northward with male companions. Those whowere travelling southward were the younger ones, and often whole families together. Among these the women predominated.
All of these people were laughing—calling rough jokes back and forth—singing, running, jumping, and dancing, till the whole roadway appeared a merry Bedlam.