"I don't make much of it as it looks now," the young surveyor replied.
"Didn't I tell you 't would take an old head to find my corner? T' other tree is in a wus shape than this yer. Now I reckon you'll be satisfied to turn about and whip home, and tell your boss it's a job for him."
"Give me your axe," was the reply.
"Boy, take kere what you're about!"
"O, I will take care; don't be afraid!" And, grasping the axe, the young surveyor began to cut away the folds of new wood which had formed over the scar.
"I see what you're up tew," said the old man, gaining confidence at every stroke. "Give me the axe; you ain't tall enough to work handy." And with a few strokes, being a skilful chopper, he cleared the old blaze, and exposed the blackened tablet which Nature had so nearly enclosed in her casket of living wood.
There, cut into the old hewed surface, were the well-preserved marks of the government survey:
N. 48° 15' W.
18 R. 10 L.
"What does that mean?" asked the old man, as the youth made a copy of these marks in his notebook.
"It means that this tree is eighteen rods and ten links from your corner stake, in a direction forty-eight degrees and fifteen minutes west of north."