"Ye mout wait a minute!" he said; "then you'll see if me an' this yer youngster's both fools. I had a lesson that larnt me onct that he knows better 'n I dew what he's about; an' I 'lowed, this time, I'd go by faith, an' make the marks 'thout no remarks o' my own."
"The line will come just where you want it, Mrs. Wiggett," Jack assured her, hiding a laugh behind his compass.
Having got the old man to mark two points on his north-and-south line, one at the threshold and the other a little beyond, Jack put his rule to them and drew a pencil-line; Mrs. Wiggett watching with a jealous scowl, not seeing that her mark was coming where she wanted it,—"right ag'in the jamb,"—after all.
Then, by a simple operation, which even she understood, Jack surprised her.
He first measured the distance of his line from the jamb. Then he set off two points, on the same side, at the same distance from the line, farther along on the floor. Then through these points he drew a second line, parallel to the first, and touching the corner of the jamb, by which the noon shadow was to be cast. Into this new line Jack sank his noon-mark with a knife.
"There," said he, "is a true noon-mark, which will last as long as your house does,"—a prediction which, by a very astonishing occurrence, was to be proved false that very afternoon.
"I reckon the woman is satisfied," said the old man; "anyhow, I be; an' now what's the tax for this yer little scratch on the floor?"
"Not anything, Mr. Wiggett."
"Hey? ye make noon-marks for folks 'thout pay?"
"That depends. Sometimes, when off surveying, I'm hailed at the door of a house, and asked for a noon-mark. I never refuse it. Then, if convenient, I take my pay by stopping to dinner or supper. But I never accept money."