Phœbe had forgotten her short interview with Droop, and she now snatched off her hat in surprise and followed her elder sister, nodding to their visitor as she entered.
"Set down, both o' ye," said Rebecca. "Now, then, Mr. Droop, perhaps you'll explain."
Rebecca was far more mystified and interested than she cared to admit. Her brusque manner was therefore much exaggerated—a dissimulation which troubled her conscience, which was decidedly of the tenderest New England brand.
Poor Copernicus experienced a sense of relief as he turned his eyes to those of the younger sister. She felt that Rebecca's manner was distinctly cold, and her own expression was the more cordial in compensation.
"Why, Miss Phœbe," he said, eagerly, "I've ben tellin' your sister about my plan to go back to the Centennial year—1876, ye know."
"To—to what, Mr. Droop?"
Phœbe's polite cordiality gave place to amazed consternation. Droop raised a deprecating hand.
"Now don't you go to think I'm tight or gone crazy. You'll understand it, fer you've ben to high school. Now see! What is it makes the days go by—ain't it the daily revolution of the sun?"
Phœbe put on what her sister always called "that schoolmarm look" and replied:
"Why, it's the turning round of the earth on its axis once in——"