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"Why, truth to tell," said Phoebe, slipping the note into her bosom, "'Tis but one of the letters I read to thee from yon carved box, Rebecca." "My sakes that!" cried her sister. "How'd the butcher's boy find it? You don't s'pose he stole it out o' the Panchronicle, do ye?" "Lord warrant us, sis, no! 'Twas writ this very day. What o'clock is it?"
"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."
I guessed you'd make fer the Panchronicle, and I jest made up my mind to come, too. Thinks I, 'that Copernicus Droop ud be jest mean enough to fly away all by himself an' leave me an' Phoebe to shift fer ourselves. So I'm here to go, too an' what's more, we've got to take Phoebe!" "How'll ye find yer sister, Cousin Rebecca?" said Droop. "We must git out to-night.
"I told her that jest's soon as the Panchronicle hed got rested and got its breath, we'd set off quick fer home you an' me. Thet's so, ain't it, Phoebe?" she concluded, with plaintive anxiety in her voice. "I'll take the letter right along," said Phoebe, with sudden determination. But Rebecca would not at once relax her hold on the envelope. "That's so, ain't it, dearie?" she insisted.
"I wish to goodness you'd ben pressed in through the walls of the lock-up 'fore ever ye brought me'n Phoebe 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 the lands sakes did you go an' make the machine run away for? Couldn't ye leave the machinery alone?"
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