"Oh, the' must be some part of it you can use, Rebecca," she said. "Land sakes!" she continued, laughing. "Why, it's the whole of the New York World for a Sunday—pictures an' all! Here—take this advertisin' piece an' spread it out—so."
She tore off a portion of the voluminous paper and carefully spread it out on one of the eastern settles.
"Whatever did you bring those slips with you for?" she asked.
Rebecca deposited the flower-pots carefully in the sun and slapped her hands across each other to remove the dust on them.
"One o' them is off my best honeysuckle thet come from a slip thet Sam Mellick brought from Japan in 1894. This geranium come off a plant thet was given me by Arabella Slade, 'fore she died in 1896, an' she cut it off'n a geranium thet come from a lot thet Joe Chandler's father raised from slips cut off of some plants 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 Phœbe turned to resume her book.
Copernicus intercepted her as she passed the table.
"What d'ye think o' this little phonograph, Cousin Phœbe?" he said.
One of Droop's boxes stood open and beside it Phœbe 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.