"Why, no!" she exclaimed, rather startled. "I--I don't know's I thought about it. But I certainly don't want Mr. Droop to see me when my clothes begin to hang loose." Then a new problem presented itself. "Come to think of it, Rebecca," she said, dolefully, "what'll I do all the time between full-grown and baby size? I didn't bring anything but the littlest clothes, you know." "Thet's so," said Rebecca, thoughtfully. Then, after a pause: "I don't see but ye'll hev to stay abed, Phoebe, till we get to th' end," she said, sympathetically. "There it is," said Phoebe, crossly. "Gettin' sent to bed a'ready--even before I expected it." "But 'tain't that, Phoebe," said Rebecca, with great concern. "I ain't sendin' ye to bed--but--but--whatever else _can_ ye do with a _man_ in the house!" "Nothin'," Phoebe replied, with a toss of her chin. She crossed the room and held out her hand to Droop. "Good-night, Mr. Droop," she said. Surprised at this sudden demonstration of friendship, he took her hand and tipped his head to one side as he looked into her face. "Next time you see me, I don't suppose you'll know me, I'll be so little," she said, trying to laugh. "I--I wish't you'd call me Cousin Copernicus," he said, coaxingly. "Well, p'raps I will when I see ye again," she replied, freeing her hand with a slight effort. Rebecca retired shortly after her sister and Copernicus was once more left alone. He rubbed his hands slowly, with a sense of satisfaction, and glanced at the date dial. "July 2, 1892," he said to himself. "I'm only thirty-four years old. Don't feel any older than that, either." He walked deliberately to the shutters, closed them and turned on the electric light. Surrounded thus by the wonted conditions of night, it was not long before he began to yawn. He removed his coat and shoes and lay back in an easy chair to meditate at ease. He faced toward the pole so that the "side weight" would tend to press him gently backward into his chair and therefore not annoy him by calling for constant opposing effort. He soon dozed off and was whisked through a quick succession of fantastic dreams. Then he awoke suddenly, and as though someone had spoken to him. Listening intently, he only heard the low murmur of the machinery below and the ticking of the many clocks and indicators all about him. He closed his eyes, intending to take up that last dream where he had been interrupted. He recollected that he had been on the very point of some delightful consummation, but just what it was he could not recall. Sleep evaded him, however. His mind reverted to the all-important question of the recovered years. He began to plan again. This time he should not make his former mistakes. No--he would not only make immense wealth promptly with the great inventions, he would give up liquor forever. It would be so easy in 1876, for he had never taken up the unfortunate habit until 1888.