"No," she replied, "I couldn't do thet. The's a lot o' fine recipes in there--I never could make my sweet pickle as good as thet recipe in the New York paper thet Molly sent me." Phoebe laid down her book and walked over to her sister's side. "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 Phoebe turned to resume her book. Copernicus intercepted her as she passed the table. "What d'ye think o' this little phonograph, Cousin Phoebe?" he said. One of Droop's boxes stood open and beside it Phoebe 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. "There!" exclaimed Phoebe. "I've always wanted to know how those things worked. I've heard 'em, you know, but I've never worked one." "It's real easy," said Droop, quite delighted to find Phoebe so interested. "Ye see, when it's wound up, all ye hev to do is to slip one o' these wax cylinders on here--so." He adjusted the cylinder, dropped the stylus and pushed the starting lever. Instantly the stentorian announcement rang out from the megaphone. "The Last Rose of Summer--Sola--Sung by Signora Casta Diva--Edison Record!" "Goodness gracious sakes alive!" cried Rebecca, turning in affright. "Who's that?" Her two companions raised their right hands in a simultaneous appeal for silence. Then the song began. With open eyes and mouth, the amazed Rebecca drew slowly nearer, and finally took her stand directly in front of the megaphone. The song ended and Copernicus stopped the motor. "Oh, ain't it lovely!" Phoebe cried. "Well--I'll--be--switched!" Rebecca exclaimed, with slow emphasis. "Can it sing anythin' else?" "Didn't you never hear one afore, Cousin Rebecca?" Droop asked. "I never did," she replied. "What on the face of the green airth does it?" "Have ye any funny ones?" Phoebe asked, quickly, fearful of receiving a long scientific lecture. "Yes," said Droop. "Here's a nigger minstrels. The's some jokes in it."