Droop looked down in confusion and plucked at the edge of his coat.
"Phœbe Wise, you're only just tryin' to be smart fer argument!"
This sentence was delivered with a suddenness which was startling. Droop looked up with a jump to find Rebecca standing at the door with a pile of clean sheets on her arm.
She was gazing sternly at Phœbe, who appeared somewhat disconcerted.
"You know's well's I do," continued the elder sister, "that every one o' your baby clothes is folded an' put away as good as new in the attic."
Phœbe rallied quickly and repelled this attack with spirit.
"Well, I don't care. They'll stay right where they are, Rebecca," she answered, with irritation. "You know we settled it last night that I wasn't to be pestered about goin' back to 1876!"
"That's true," was the reply, "but don't you be givin' such fool reasons for it. It's really just because you're afraid o' bein' whipped an' put to bed—an' goodness knows, you deserve it!"
With this, Rebecca turned grimly and went into the garden to hang the sheets up for an airing.
There was a moment's awkward pause, and then Phœbe broke the silence.