"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!" cried Rebecca. "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!"