At this Rebecca straightened up and cast one horrified glance at her sister. Then she turned and began to put on her bonnet and jacket. Her mind was made up. Phoebe was delirious and they must seek a doctor--at once. "Get your things on, Phoebe," she said, striving to appear calm. "Put on your things an' come out with me. Let's see if we can't take a little exercise." Phoebe arose obediently and went to her room. They were neither of them very long about their preparations, and by the time the sun was actually rising, the two women were leaving the air-ship for the second time, Phoebe carrying the precious carved box and Rebecca her satchel and umbrella. "What you bringin' that everlastin' packet o' letters for?" Rebecca asked, as they reached the opening in the wall. "I want to have it out in the light," Phoebe replied. "I want to see something." Outside of the brick wall she paused and opened the box. It was empty. "I thought so!" she said. "Why, ye've brought the box 'thout the letters, Phoebe," said Rebecca. "You're not agoin' back for them, air ye?" "No," Phoebe replied, "'twouldn't do any good. Rebecca. They aren't there." She dropped the box in the grass and looked wistfully about her. "Not there!" said Rebecca, nonplussed. "Why, who'd take 'em?" "Nobody. They haven't been written yet." "Not--not--" Rebecca gasped for a moment and then hurried toward the road. "Come on!" she cried. Surely, she thought--surely they must find a doctor without delay. But before they reached the road, Rebecca was glad to pause again and take advantage of a friendly bush from whose cover she might gaze without being herself observed. The broad highway which but so short a time ago was quite deserted, was now occupied by a double line of bustling people--young and old--men, women, and children. Those travelling toward their left, to the north, were principally men and boys, although now and then a pair of loud-voiced girls passed northward with male companions. Those who were travelling southward were the younger ones, and often whole families together. Among these the women predominated. All of these people were laughing--calling rough jokes back and forth--singing, running, jumping, and dancing, till the whole roadway appeared a merry Bedlam. "Must be a county fair near here!" exclaimed Rebecca. "But will ye listen to the gibberish an' see their clothes!" Indeed, the language and the costumes were most perplexing to good New England ears and eyes, and Rebecca knew not whether to advance or to retreat. The women all wore very wide and rather short skirts, the petticoat worn exposed up to where a full over-skirt or flounce gave emphasis to their hips. The elder ones wore long-sleeved jackets and high-crowned hats, while the young ones wore what looked like low-necked jerseys tied together in front and their braided hair hung from uncovered crowns.