"Perhaps it's haunted," Phoebe replied. "Well, we needn't go in, I guess," said Rebecca, turning from the door and starting briskly away. "Come on this way, Phoebe--look out fer the trees--lands! Did y'ever see so many?" A few steps brought them to a high brick wall, against which flowers, weeds, and vines grew rank together. They followed this wall, walking more rapidly, for the day was breaking in earnest and groping was needless now. Presently they came to a spot where the wall was broken away, leaving an opening just broad enough to admit a man's body. Rebecca squeezed boldly through and Phoebe followed her, rather for company's sake than with any curiosity to see what was beyond. They found themselves in a sort of open common, stretching to the edge of a broad roadway about a hundred yards from where they stood. On the other side of the road a cluster of gabled cottages was visible against the faint rose tint of the eastern sky. As Phoebe came to her sister's side, she clutched her arm excitedly: "Rebecca!" she exclaimed. "'Tis Newington, as true as I live! Newington and Blackman Street!" Suddenly she sat down in the grass and hid her face in her hands. "What d'ye mean?" said Rebecca, looking down at her sister with a puzzled expression. "Where's Newington--I never heerd tell of Blackman Street. Air ye thinkin' of Boston, or----" Phoebe interrupted her by leaping to her feet and starting back to the opening in the wall. "Come back, Rebecca!" she exclaimed. "Come back quick!" Rebecca followed her sister in some alarm. Phoebe must have been taken suddenly ill, she thought. Perhaps they had reached one of those regions infected by fevers of which she had heard from time to time. In silence the two women hurried back to the Panchronicon, whose uncouth form was now quite plainly visible behind the trees into the midst of which it had fallen when the power stored within it was exhausted. Not until they were safely seated in Rebecca's room did Phoebe speak again. "There!" she exclaimed, as she dropped to a seat on the edge of the bed, "I declare to goodness, Rebecca, I don't know what to make of it!" "What is it? What ails ye?" said Rebecca, anxiously. "Why, I don't believe I'm myself, Rebecca. I've been here before. I know that village out there, and--and--it's all I can do to talk same's I've always been used to. I'm wanting to talk like--like I did awhile back." "It's all right! It's all right!" said Rebecca, soothingly. "Th' ain't nothing the matter with you, deary. Ye've ben shet up here with side weight an' what not so long--o' course you're not yerself." She bustled about pretending to set things to rights, but her heart was heavy with apprehension. She thought that Phoebe was in the first stages of delirium. "Not myself! No," said Phoebe. "No--the fact is, I'm somebody else!"