"'Tain't somethin' he ain't thought of," she said, stoutly. "He's makin' money out of it, an' ef we get back before him, why, when time comes agin for him to invent it he won't have it to invent. I'm sure that's jest as bad as robbin' him, ain't it?" Phoebe looked anxiously at Copernicus and was much pleased to find him apparently unmoved. "Why, you certainly don't understand this yet," he insisted. "Milliken ain't agoin' back six years with us, is he? He'll jest go right along livin' as he's ben doin'." "What!" Rebecca exclaimed. "Will he be livin' in one time an' we be livin' in another--both at the same--" She stopped. What _was_ she saying! "No--no!" replied Copernicus. "He'll go on livin'. That's what he _will_ do. We'll go on havin' lived. Or to put it different--we _have_ gone on livin' after we get back six years--to 1892. Ye see, we really have past all the six years--so the's no harm in it. Milliken won't be hurt." Rebecca glanced at Phoebe, in whose face she found her own perplexity reflected. Then, throwing out her hands, as though pushing away her crowding mental obstructions, she cried: "There--there! I can't get the hang of it. It's too much for me!" "Oh, when you've done it once it'll be all easy and clear," said Droop, soothingly. Phoebe looked hopefully into his face. "Will you take us, Mr. Droop?" she asked. "Oh, I s'pose I'll hev to." "An' only unwind six years?" "Yes--jest six years." She jumped up excitedly. "Then I'll be off to my packin'!" She ran to the door and, pausing here, turned again to their visitor. "Can we start to-night, Mr. Droop?" "Yes, indeed!" he replied. "The sooner the better." "That's splendid!" she cried, and ran quickly up the stairs. The two older people sat for a while in melancholy silence, looking down. Each had hoped for more than this. Copernicus tried to convince himself that the profit from the cough syrup would comfort him for his disappointment. Rebecca dismissed with a sigh the dreams which she had allowed herself to entertain--those bright fictions centering on Joe Chandler--not the subdued old bachelor of 1898, but the jolly young fellow of the famous Centennial year. At length Rebecca looked up and said: "After all, Mr. Droop, come to think of it, you've no call to take us with ye. I can't do ye any good--goin' back only six years." "Yes ye can," said Droop. "I'll need somebody to help me keep house in the Panchronicon. I ain't no hand at cookin' an' all, an' besides, it'll be mighty lonely without anybody in there." "Well," she rejoined, rising, "I'll jest go up an' finish my packin'." "An' I'll go tend to mine." As they parted at the front door, it was arranged that Droop was to bring a wheelbarrow after supper and transport the sisters' belongings, preparatory to their departure.